PR 490& toau»«s, uj. 



PR 4908 
! I .037 W5 
V Copy 1 




'.K-^-i^-' 



EUaENE ARAM. 



PRINTED, BUT NOT PUBLISHED 




NEW OELEANS: 

PRINTED BY AMOS 8. COLLINS. 

1874. 




PRINTED, BUT NOT PUBLISHED. 



EUGENE ARAM 



a flag 



IN 



FIVE ACTS, 



FOUNDED ON BTILWER, 



ESPY W^ H> WILLIAMS. 



PRIVATE EDITION, AI.I. RIGHTS RESERVED. 



NEW DELE ANS: \- ? ,\..\rJ>^ 



PRINTED BY AMOS 8. COLLINS. 

1874. 



\ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

ESPY W. H. WILLIAMS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 



DEDICATED 

TO 

THE MEMORY 

OF 

EDWAED LYTTON BULWER, 

TO WHOSE GENIUS 

THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK 
IS 

INDEBTED. 



V 



PKEPACE. 



The novel of Eugene Aram, by Edward L. Bul- 
wer, and the historical facts of Eugene Aram's life, 
are famiii ir to all readers. It may not, however, be 
bO generally known that before Bulwer wrote his 
novel he commenced a Tragedy on the same subject 
which he prosecuted through one entire Act and part 
of another, and then discontinued for the novel. The 
following Play may be regarded as founded on these 
two works. 

The author has derived from the novel the 
characters and the foundation of the plot; but the 
conduct of the story throughout, the scenes, and sit- 
uations, are materially altered, and designed to be 
more intense and dramatic, while the language is 
entirely different from that of the novel, except in a 
few unimportant places. 

This Play, therefore, is not to be regarded as a 
dramatization of the novel. 

Of the dramatic fragment of Bulwer, the author 
has used the whole of the First Act, — making only 
a few additions and omissions to suit his own taste 
and design, — and also a portion of a scene in the 
Second Act. Eor this he desires to make full ac- 



6 PREFACE. 

knowIedgmePxt; not regarding liiiasuif as a plagiarist, 
or eopyer, but as having buDibiy adopted the work 
of Bulwer, with a view to completing what he had 
commenced. Nor has he assumed to improve upon 
Bulwer in the alterations made in that author^s 
work, but merely to adapt it by a few changes to the 
purposes of his remodeled story. 

Act First of this Play is the same as Act First 
of Bulwer's fragment, except Scene First which is 
new, and Scene Fourth which although Bulwer's is 
materially changed. In Scone Second of the Second 
Act of this Play, is incorporated the portion of the 
Second Act of Bulwer's Fragment refered to above. 

With these exceptions this Play is offered as 
original. 

The conduct of the story, the scenes, and situa- 
tions, the denouement, and the manner of bringing 
it about, 'will be found to be very different from those 
of the novel, and yet, if the author is not mistaken, 
better adapted to the purposes of dramatic repre- 
sentation, as those of Bulwer are more in harmony 
with the style of the novel 

The concluding scene of this Play bears, in the 
fact of being in the prison, a slight resemblance to 
tli3 last scene in the dramatization of the novel made 
some years ago by W. T. Moncrieff. But the re- 
semblance is only in the place, the interest of the 
Scene being entirely different. 

In the manner of Aram's death there is an 
alteration both from the above mentioned dra- 
matization and the novel, which has been made un- 
der the belief that the hero's end in submitting to 
the Law rather than to incur the new guilt of suicide, 
if not in accordance with the actual fact, is more in 



PREFACE. / 

harmony wi'cli tlie acquired tone of character given 
to him by Bulwer, and adhered to in this compo- 
sition. 

There has lately been produced in London .a 
Play from the pen of W. G. Wills, Esqr., upon the 
same subject, but which departs almost wholly from 
the story of Eugene Aram as given either in history 
or fiction. As that author has not drawn upon Bul- 
wer for any of his materials, there are no points of 
resemblance or difference to be commented on, with 
the exception of one, — the burying of the money in 
the grave. This, however, is wholly an accidental 
coincidence, as the author of this Play was ignorant 
of Mr. Wills' work until after his own was completed. 
July 4th, 1873. 



€h\xxd.titxB. 



m ACT FIRST. 

EUGENE AEA.M. 

RICHARD HOUSEMAN (Eis Friend). 

FIRST, SECOND, AND THIRD CREDITOR. 

IN -THE REMAINING ACTS. 

EUGENE ARAM (Engaged to Madeline). 

RICHARD HOUSEMAN. 

SIR ROWLAND LESTER. 

WALTER LESTER (his nephew, in love ivith Madeline). 

CORPORAL BUNTING. 

CLERGYMAN. 

JAILOR. 

PETER. 

MADELINE (Sir Rowlands eldest daughter). 

ELLINOR (her sister, in love with Walter). 

The Sheriff, Jailor^s Attendant, Servants, Soldiers, Vil- 
lagers, etc. 



COSTUMS-Englisli, of about tlie year 1750. 



Note. — Passages marked with inverted commas, thus ("), maybe 
omitted in representation. 



Special Notice. — Managers and Stars are not at liberty to produce 
this play without the consent of the Author. 



EUGENE ARAM. 



ACT I. 

Scene ¥msT.— A grove, yiear;- Aram's residence in 
York, {in 1st grooves.) -■ - 

j&nter" Houseman, E., slowly alone. 

Houseman. (r. c.) We all are slaves unto the 

power of gold ! 
The beggar to the Gold above him. slaves, 
And that, in turn, slaves still to that above; 
Till, last of all, the rich man lords o'er all, 
And is the passing demi-god to whom 
Pemiiless humanity must cringe and bow ! 
To be rich then, is to be ail in ail. 
For riches may beget all things. — Oh, Gold ! 
Thy sunny face is a sure harbinger 
Of many happy days of bright success ! 
Your yellow dawn awakes the day of Fortune, 
And bids that frail and fickle goddess smile ! 
Your ringing voice softens the heart of stone; 
All courage fails before your smiting charms, 
And, slave-like, all must yield to your desires ! ( c. ) 
Gold — gold 1 to be a God on earth, get gold ! 
I thank thee, Richard, thou hast found this out. 
But, — how get gold? — I'll tell thee. Richard; 

Mark ! 
Fools still thrive best upon your wisemen's 

foUy,- 
And rogues upon the weakness of the honest ! 
Would'et be rich ! — Then, be thine the common 

coffer, 



lD.to wiiicli s-^cli xfi'^^T-'s iv.ivrz'i^, 1:? AuQj^, — or fails ! 

Levy thy contribnt^'.n- ■■/]]'- - • -;• - -lore 

Is largf^, Vae daiigf^r in. ob;;;;;;--; ; :• ^ ■ .^ist. 

And tlii:s, aboye all, — make ea h man jour tool, 

Wlio liatli not strength, or wit to lu aster 

>r4 po, liiei!, / «' ' " ^ '• ' < ^"'' ^"j :i,i^t, — 

Wlie""eto thes-^ 

A . " ■ ^ ,! ' ' V tO! L 

WhoiKO ^ ^r ' -r Aram? 

Aram—-!: j _.'c, . oo&o x^xSvioi^^ T"!i boi'cor 

him ; — 
The b.oo83t man, — whose virti?.G shall betray. — 
Nono would snspect liim. — and — be will tell no 

tales ! 
YeSj Eao'ooe Aram, it is tlion slialt be ■ 
The wortliY partner of my de^stiny ! 

(Exit,!..) 






/ 



JL i^ S / 






FmsT Crsditos. {vntlwui, i..) I must bo paid I Three 
nionthr have pr-sod since L-isi 

i ,>'^ <^ \_'i> . f. . <, , »/ And me I 



So. 2. J EUGENE AKAM. 11 

Enter Aram, hastily ^ by door, -l,^ folloy)ed hy Three 
Creditors. 

Aeam, (as he enters.) Away, I tell ye 1 Will ye rend 
my f^arb ? i c ) 
Avvay 1 To-morrow — {changing his tone.) — G-en- 
tie sirgj — to-TnorrG\y. 
First Cheditos, This is your constani worcl. 
Second Cseditob, I'm sick of it I 

Teisd Ceeditos. We are agreed, Sir: we will wait 

no more. 
Af.a'm. {after a pause. ) Yell wait no more ? — - 
Enough! — be seated, sirs, — 
Pray ye, be seated, {they sit.) Well! with 

searching eyes 
Pray ye survey these walls. Oontain they anght— 
Nay, take your leisure I — to annul your claims ? 

A pause. Enter Houseman, at door, l., unper= 
ceived. On .seeing Akam to be ocoiqned, and 
tvith ivhom, he screens himself behind the door 
■ and remains Uslening. 

Asam. {continuing, to Fikst CsEi)iroR.)™SeQ Sir, ^von 
books — ^they Ve voufb, if you but tear 
That fragment of spoiled paper, — be not back- 
ward, 
I give them with good wilL — This one is Greek; 
A p;oldeii work, S'-veeb sir, — a golden work ! 
It teaches us to heav — what I have borne; — 
And to forbear mea'a ills — as you have done, 
EiEST Ohsditos. You mock mo? Well — 
Akam. {ijiterrupliag.) Mock — mock I Alas I my 
friend. 
Do rags indulge in jesting ? Fie, sir, fie I 
{then turning to Seoo^sti) Cseditob.) 
Yon Y/ill not wrong" me so. — On yonr receipt, 
Take this ronnd orb — it miniatnreB the world, 
And in its &tudy I forgot the world I 
Take yonder glass — so yon do use it right, 
'Twill bri'jg you nearer Heaven. 



12 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT I. 

Second Creditor, (interrupting.) Sir. — 
Aram, (same, reprovingly.) Nay — nay 1 

Patience — should be the attribute of Ease, — 
Your Want, alas ! forgets it in its hunger. 
(Then turning, addressing Third Creditor.) 
You sir, will be more kind — you have known 

want. 
Take this. — Yon table; — a poor scholar's fare 
Needs no such proud support !— Yon conch, 

tco; Sleep 
Is Night's sweet angel, leading fallen man, 
Through yielding airs, to youth's lost paradise; — 
But Sleep and I have quarreled. Take it, sir I 
Aad, in return, pray give me back my note. 
Houseman, (at the door, aside, while the creditors con- 
fer.) Or heaven or hell hath sent me here 
this hour ! 
^^ Satan himself had not cho:e one so ripe 

For his designs, — or Heaven for his undoing. 
First Creditor, (to Aram.) I do agree. I'll take 

your books. 
Second Creditor. (ditto.) And I, 

Your globe and telescope. 
Third Creditor, (ditto.) And, I, your couch, 

And yonder table there. We'll come to-morrow, — 
Each give you his receipt and take his things. 



Aram on hearing his own proposals assented to, starts 
and seems suddenly overcome with fear, lest he may 
be obliged to part with his things. 



Aram. Nay— nay I I did but jest I— You took it so ? — 
I cannot part v/ith these — they are my all,— 
They are my means of life — Aye, life itself ! 
You would not take my life ? 

First Creditor. We're tired of vainly waiting, sir; 
better 
Take what we can than in the end lose all. 



Sc. 2.] EUaENE AEAM. 13 

Third Creditor. We have the law, and so shall 
take your things. 
Farewell, sir. (starts -l.) 

First Creditor, (starting.) Till to-morrow. 

Aram, (excitedly, detaining them.) Stay ! stay! stay! 
I 1 One moment, — pray you ! 

Second Creditor, (pausing, with the others.) Well, 
Sir, what ? 

Aram, (draws from his bosom a miniature, hung 
about his neck, ivhich ivas once adorned by jewels 
set in a gold frame, but the frame alone is 
remaining. He speaks without looking at the 
miniature, which he holds in ids hands.) 
This was my mother's gift, — her miniature. 
She little dreamt the gems that garnished it, 
Would go for bread to keep her son alive.— 
But — I have parted with them, one by one, 
Ard now but one remains. It shall be yours, 
So you will leave me these. 

First Creditor, (approaching.) Let's see the gem. 

Aram, {offering to show it.) Here — (then suddenly 
starting back seeing thai there is none, pale and 
aghast. ) I forgot ! — I parted with it — full 
Two months ago ! — it, also, went for — bread. 

First Creditor. You've mocked us, sir, enough with 



voar excuses 



We've borne enough, endurance now is past. 

Exit Houseman, quickly, from door. Then 

exeunt Creditors, through same. Aram sinks 

into a chair, c, overcome and beivildered, and 

seems lost in thought. Re-enter Houseman, at 

^ the door. 

Houseman, (aside.) I've told the fools that he 
• has stores of gold, 
And so have pricked their grasping dispositions 

on. 
That they'll have gold or seize on all his goods. 
(Then, seeing Aram's condition, he ajDproaches 
him slowly during the follovjing speech, until 
at its close he stands beside him,, l. ) 



14 Eua-ENK ■ ' ." 

Abam. ( soliloquizing.) O life, vile life, witii wiiat 
soul-lavish love 
We cling to thee I — When all thy charms are 

iied — 
Yea, — the more foul thy withering aspect grows, 
The steadier grows our passion to possess thee. — 
To die ; — aye, there's the cure ! — the plashing 

stream 
That girds these walls ; — the drug of the dank 

weeds 
That rot the air below ; — these hoard the balm 
Eor broken, piningj^ and indignant hearts ! — 
Yet — the witch Hope, forbids me to be wise. 
Houseman, {laying his hand on Aeam's shoulder,) 
How noYvI what! — gloomy! — and the day so 
bright ! 

Come, rouse thee Aram, — let us forth 

Akam. . {interrupting, somewhat impatiently,) Nay, 
friend ! 
My spirit Li.<-keys not the moody wkies, 
Nor changes bright, or darkling, as they change. 
Farewell, good Richard. I must work this 

day :— 
Behold my tools, — and, scholars toil alone. 
Houseman, {not heeding the hint, and seating himself. ) 
Pshaw ! a few minutes wasted upon me 
.May well be spared from this long summer day. 
Hast heard the news? — Dan Clarke, — thou 
know'st the man ? 
Aram. Yes, I remember him. He too is poor. 
Houseman. Nay, he is poor no more I The all-chang- 
ing wheel ^ 
Roll'd round, and scattered riches at his feet. 
Aram, {aside.) Behold, blind Fortune! it is ever 
thus ; 
Fools fall into her bounty, while shy merit 
Must sweat for it, — and — starve ! 
Houseman, , {continuing. ) Clarke's a poor fool, — 
but honest ! Had Dame Fate 
Done this for you — for me, 'tis true our brains 
Had taught us better how to spend the dross. — 



Sc. 2.] EUGENE ABAM. 15 

What loyal service, wliat complacent friendship, 
What gracious love upon the lips of Beauty, 
Bloom into life beneath the beams of Gold i 
'Weniis and Bacchus, the bright eare-dispellers, 
"Are never seen but in the train of Fortune! 
Would I were rich! 
Aram. {erUhusiastically.) Shame on thy low am- 
bition I 
Would I were rich, too ; but for other aims. 
Oh ! vfhat a glorious and time-hallowed world 
Would I invoke around me ; "and wall in 
"A haunted solitude %vith those bright souls, 
"That, with a still and warming aspect, gaze 
"Upon us from the hallowing shroud of books ! 
By Heaven, there should not be a seer who left 
The world one doctrine, bat I'd task his lore, 
- And commune with his spirit ! all the truths 
Of all the tongues of earth, — I'd have them all, — 
Had I the golden spell to raise their ghosts ! ^ 
"IM !>uild me d(jmes, too, from whose giddy 

heights 
"My soul should watch the stars, and track the 

ways 
"Of God from world to world ; — pursue the 

winds, — 
"The clouds that womb the thunder, — to their 

home ; 
"Invoke and conquer Nature 1 — share her throne 
"On earth, and ocean, and the chainless air; 
"And on the Titan fabrics of old truths 
"Raise the bold spirit to a height with Heaven ! 
Would — would my lite might boast one year of 

wealth, 
Though death should bound it ! 
Houseman, (ivho has closely studied Aram's coun- 
tenance during the foregoing, sloioly ■ and in 
a marked tone. ) Thou mayst have thy wish. 
Aram, {startled and surprised.) Mayst have my wish? 

What mean you. Houseman ? What ? 
Houseman. Aram, I have a purpose ; Clarke is rich 
Possessing that which better should be ours. 



16 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT 1. 

Aram. But Fate — ^Fate rules it so. 

Houseman. True, indeed true ! 

Unless, mark you, we rule it otherwise. 

Aram. Ah ! — would'st thou tempt me ? 

Methought I heard an evil genius say 

Aram may have his wish ! — Heard I aright ? 

Houseman. Thou didst, but 'twas no evil genius 
spoke. 
It was thy friend who'd see thy hopes bear 

fruit, — 
Who'd point thee out a way to thy success. 
Listen. To-night this rich fool Clarke, will pass 
St. Eobert's cave. He bears his gold with him ; 
The spot is lone — untenanted — remote. 
And, — if thou hast the courage, — one bold 

deed, — 
And one short moment, — thou art poor no m-ore. 
And the first rise unto thy greatness gained 1 
, Thou dost the world no wrong in this, rather 
Dost benefit it, gaining so the means 
To spread thy knowledge. "It is natureVs law, — 
"The greater still must feed upon the less ! 
"Thou'lfc see it on the earth, iii air, and ocean, — 
"And shall man then presume 'tis not for him? 

Aram. "Richard, was that thy voice ?-p^ 

Houseman, {continuing. ) Thou art-scholar, — 
And I the ignorant man ! To-day we stand 
Alike in fortunes — penniless ! But mark 
This difi'erence ; — ere three days I am rich—^ 
"While thou — the wise man — will be still as 

poor! 
Come ! — cast aside thy wisdom, — do as I ! — 
Take from the superfliiities of others 
What thy necessities demand. 

Aram. "Again, 

Richard, was that thy voice ? 

Houseman. How couldst thou doubt it ? 

Aram. Because its tone was changed ; — and, now 
methinks. 
Now that I look upon thy face, my eyes 
Discover not its old familiar aspect. 



SC. 2.] EUttENE ARAM. 17 

Houseman. Thou'rt dreaming, Aram ! wake, and let 
thy mind, 
And heart drink all I breathe into thy ear. 
I know thee, truly, for a man humane, 
Gentle, and musing ; — but, withal, of stuff 
That might have made a warrior ; and desires, 
Though of a subtler nature than my own, 
As. high and hard to compass. Care and want 
Have made thee, what they made thy friend 

long since. 
And when I wound my heart to this resolve, — 
Dangerous, but fraught with profit, — I did fix 
On thee as one whom Fate and Nature made, 
A worthy partner in this deed. — {pause.) — 
Akam. {ivithout looking towards Houseman.) Go on. 
Houseman. Few words remain to tell my full de- 
sign. 
Know that at my advice it is, this gulled, 
And credulous fool of Fortune quits his home. 
Say but one word and thou shalt share with me 
The gold he bears about him. — It is true. 
Detection— death, perhaps, may threaten us ; 
Bat is't not better than some certainties ? • 
Say, — wilt thou join me, — Aram ? — speak. 
Aram, {after a pause, slowly and partly to himse^.) 
Behold,— 
How many deathful, dread and ghastly snares 
Encompass him whom the stark hunger gnaws, 
And the grim demon — Penury, shuts from out 
The golden Eden of his bright desires ! 
To-day, I thought to slay myself, and die, 
No single hope once won ! — and now I hear 
Dark words of blood, and quail not, — nor recoil. 
'Tis but a death in either case ; — or mine, — 
Or that poor dotard's! — and — the guilt — the 

guilt — 
Why, what is guilt ? — A word ! — We are the 

tools. 
From birth to death, of Destiny, and shaped 
For sin or virtue by the iron will 
Of Fate, — the august compeller of the world. 



18 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT I. 

Houseman, (aside.) It works, {then aloud.) Then 

you consent ? 
Aram, (hesitatingly, half aside. ( To-morrow, and — 
Houseman, (interrupting, significantly.) As I did 
enter, at the door I met 
Three men, — mercers I guessed, — and, as I 



One smiled and to his neighbor said — "To- 
morrow" — 
Aram, (suddenly, recollecting his interview with the 
Creditors. ) 

Enough — enough ! — I — (checks himself suddenly, 
recoiling at the thought of what he ivas about to 
say.) 
Houseman, (not heeding this movement. ) Good ! I'll 
look for you. 

At mid-night, near St. Eobert's cave. 
Aram, (falteringly, as if wishing, yet fearing to 

speak. ) I — 

Houseman, (aside, moving lu.) Fool! 

He would, yet fears to say he would, (aloud, l. c. ) 
Courage, 

My friend ; — this deed breaks the hard chains 
of Want, 

And leaves thee free — free as the mountain bird, 

Upon the pinions of tbine own desires 

To mount ! I'll look for you. Farewell till then. 

JExit Houseman by door, l. Aram sinks back in 
his chair and as he does so his eyes fall on the 
miniature, hanging from his neck. At the 
sight of it he starts, and catching it in his hand, 
turns quickly as though to call to Houseman ; 
finding him gone he again sinks back in his 
chair c, and hangs his head, at the same 
time letting the miniature fall from his 
grasp. — Scene closes. 



Sc. 3.] EUGENE ARAM. 19 

Scene Third. — A part of the forest, near St. Bobert's 
cave. — {in 1st grooves.) — Time — midnights 

Enter Aram, l., sloivly, alone. 

Aram, {solus, l. c.) Were it but done, methinks 

'twould scarce bequeath 
Much food for that dull hypocrite — Remorse. 
'Tis a fool less on earth ! A clod, — a grain, 
From the o'er-rich creation, — Be it so. — 
I — I in one brief year, could give to man 
More solid, glorious, undecaying good. 
Than his whole life could purchase ; — ^yet 

without 
The pitiful and nigard dross he wastes — 
And I, — for lacking — starve, — my power is 

naught, 
And the whole good undone ! — Where, then the 

crime, 
Though by dread means, to compass that bright 

end? (c.) 
And yet — and yet — I falter, and my flesh 
Creeps, — and the horror of a ghastly thought 
Makes stiff my hair, — makes my blood cold, — 

my knees 
To smite each other, and throughout my frame 
Stern manhood melt away ! — Blow forth, sweet 

air ! 
Brace my mute nerves, — release the gathering 

ice 
That curdles up my veins, — call forth the soul, 
That, with a steady and unfailing front, (r. c.) 
Hath looked on want, and woe, and early 

death, — 
And — walked with thee, sweet air, upon thy 

course 
Away from earth through the rejoicing heavens. 
{as he starts out, r., he shrinks back frightened.) 
Who is there ? — Speak ! — I saw — a — something — 

move! 



20 EUGENE AKAM. [AcT 1. 

Nothing ? nothing ? — Ob, fie ! that thus my 

mind 
Should raise up phantoms to affright me !- fie ! 

{Exit, E.) 



Scene Fourth. — The forest, before St. Bobert's Cave. — 
(full stage.) — The entrance to cave, in fat, r. u. e., 
pa7iiaUy facing the audience, overgrown with climb- 
ing plants, shrubs, etc. Bocks extending off on 
either side, — dov:n r., and off l., to form back- 
ground to scene, — covered with small growth, firs, 
etc., with dense forest background. Full moon 
overhead, with clouds passing swiftly across her 
disc, casting moving ."shadows upon the scene. 

After the scene draws, a pause; then a cry from 
within the cave is heard of "Help ! help I 
help !" Another pause, very still, and Aram 
rushes in, from the cave, pale and 
aghast, — his bosom torn open as in a struggle, 
and the miniature, which he -wore in Scene 
Second, dangling from his neck. 

Aram, {as he enters.) 'Tis done! — 'tis done! — 

'tis done ! (c.) A life is gone 
Out of a crowded world ! — I struck no more ! — 
Thank G-od ! 'twas not my blow that killed him ! 

I— 
— He cried for help, as it were near, — although 
He knew he cried in vain ! {then seeing the min- 
iature, clasping it in his hands overcome.) 
Oh, G-od ! — my mother ! — 

{then perceiving there is blood upon it^ he starts 
back in terror, at the same time tearing it from his 
neck. ) 
Ah ! there is blood on it ! — blood — innocent 

blood ! 

Enter Houseman, /rom the cave. 



So. 4.] EUGENE ARAM. 21 

Houseman, {approaching Aram, who is still gazing 
fixedly at the miniature.) Why didst thou 
leave me ere our task was done ? 
Aram, {at Houseman's voice, starts as frightened by 
the sound, but recognizing him he remains 
silent for a moment, and then speaks to him, 
slowly, at the same time showing him the 
miniature. ) 
This — this — It was my mother's gift ! — and 

now — 
'Tis smeared with blood, — blood of the man I — 
{suddenly checking himself and changing tone.) 

No! 
He cried "Help! help!" and then you struck 
him. 
Houseman, {snatching the miniature and throwing it 
down. ) Fool ! 

To tremble so at sight of blood ! — Take heart. 
Aram. Take heart ! — and I — I had no heart for him ! 
Houseman. But where's the gold ? You did not leave 

the gold ? 
Aram. The gold ? — I have it not. 
Houseman. Then in and get it. 

Aram. Nay ! — nay ! — I dare not — dare not ! 
Houseman, {indignantly.) Coward heart ! 

Behold, — I dare, {starts towards r. u. e. ) 
Aram, {falling on his knee, l. c.) Would I had 
never dared ! 

As Houseman is about to enter the cave the curtain 
falls. 

END OF ACT THE FIRST. 



A LAPSE OF TEN YEARS BETWEEN AcT FiRST 

AND Act Second. 



22 EUGENE ARAM. [ACT II. 



ACT II. 



Scene First. — The woods in the neighborhood of 
Grassdale, Sir Rowland Lester's residence, (in 2nd 
grooves. ) 

Enler Houseman, alone, l. 1. e. Re is very 
much changed, having lost that refinement of 
bearing which in a measure he possessed in 
Act First. His hair and beard are thick, 
and cut short. His dress coarse, and very 
much ivorn. His countenance indicating the 
intemperance of his habits, and his manner 
that of a shrewd, dangerous man. 

Houseman, (entering.) So, ho ! the devil, it; seems, 
hath played me false ! 
Hath beggared me, and, were't not for my wits, 
Would hang me too, -while Aram lives in ease ; 
5-is life in no more danger now than — Clarke's, 
Which his hand helped to put away, past harm, 
Ten years ago ! — 

He hath become the village oracle, too, 
And prophesies of Heaven to the guiltless, — 
Unto the guilty, Heaven's curse and man's ! — 
He, whose right hand is dyed in blood 1 ha ! ha 1 
'Tis an old saw — "The Devil for a preacher." — 
Thou dost well Aram, truly ! (pause, c. ) 
Besides, I hear he is to marry soon^ 
A rich old Knight's young daughter. Plague 

upon't, 
I heard the name, — and now it slips my 

memory ! 
Sir — Ah ! I have it now ; — Sir Rowland Lester. — 
Faith Aram, you thrive well on your blood- 
gains. 
While I, poor Richard Houseman, drag in want. 



SC. 1.] EUGENE ARAM. 23 

Enter Corporal Bunting, unth basket on arm, 
R. u. E., unperceived. On seeing Houseman 
he pauses b. c. watching him suspiciously, — 
but yet not overhearing him. 

Houseman, {continuing.) 'Tis not a just reward for 

serving hell 
So truly, Hichard ; — thou hast been ill-used ! 
Thou did?t the work, yet Aram profits by it ! 
'Tis right then, Richard, Aram shares with thee 
The overplus of his deserts !-Hltis just ! 
I'll call on him, in courtesy ; perhaps 
He may be pleased to see his old friend, Dick ; — 
And, say he should not, — and it may be so, — 
Why then he shall not buy my absence cheaply. 
I have not yet forgot my Golden Rule, — 
Turn all to use, and make each man your tool. 
Who hath not strength, or wit to master you ! — 
It serves me always, — it will serve me still. 
{Exit Houseman, r. 1. e. not seeing Bunting, who 

comes down l. c. watching him.) 
Bunting. I do not like tha.t fellow's looks ; it means 

mischief ! and mischief will be sure to come 

if he stays about these parts long enough. 

You may say your prayers to that, Corporal 

Bunting, — you may say your prayers to 

that ! 

(Exit, L. 1. E.) 



Scene Second.— ITie gardens at Grassdale, Sir Row- 
land Lester's residence, {in drd and 5th grooves. ) — 
a large tree with spreading branches c. — {in Srd 

■ grooves.) — under which is a garden seat. The stage 
represents a lawn, with garden trees on either side 
and back, — the distant forest {in fiat 5th grooves.) 
formvng the back ground . * 

Enter Aram, and Mad aline, arm in arm, l. I.e., 
leisurely crossing the stage. Aram looks older 
and more thoughtful than in Act First, and 



24 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT 2. 

his manner is more dignified, and reserved. 
At times his face wears a slight expression of 
fear, anxiety, and suspicion. His hair is long 
and his face clean shaven. His dress is rich, 
but plain and neat, not at all gaudy. 

Aram, {to Madaline, as they enter.) Alone with 
thee, Peace comes to earth again, 
Beloved! — {Unter Wai^t-er, l. u. e. unperceived ; 
seeing A-RAM and Madaline 7ie stops suddenly , 
L. c. back, watching them, frowningly. Aram 
continues.) — Would our life could, like a 
brook 
Watering a desert, glide unseen away. 
Murmuring our own heart's music, which is 

Love, 
And glassing only Heaven, which is Love's life ! 
{Exeunt Aram and Madaline, r. 1. e. Walter 
comes down, watching them off. ) 
Walter. The praises of that man are hateful to me I 
Still is it — Aram — Aram — till mina ears 
Do sicken with the discord of his name ! 
m leave this place ! — 
— ^Aram, is knowledge incarnate in man ! — 
— Aram is one, whose mind was grown in 

Heaven 
Ere he became a man ; — 'tis so far seeing, — 
So earth-adorning, full of heavenly thoughts ! — 
Now, by my life, I am as good a man ! — 
Have knowledge equal, wits as true and sharp, 
A mind as full poetical, — and yet, 
Because I do parade not, — nor hang up 
My virtues, — like old clothes for sale, — I am 
The plain, unnoticed, noteless Walter Lester. 

(e. c.) 
And then — then she — Let me not think of it ! 
But — I will leave this place ; — and let him rot 
Under the leaves his fame's chill fall shall 

cast ; — 
For, as I like him not, so would I swear, 
His meteor light shall sink in darkness yet. 

{Exit, R. 1. e.) 



SC. 2.] EUGENE ARAM. 25 

Enter Ellinok, l. 2. e., in time to see "Walter go 
out ; she speaks looking after him. 

Ellinor. Walter ! — -How proud he is — noble in 
bearing. ( c. ) 
Oh ! Madaiine, for such a man as Aram, 
Whose greatness is but borrowed, — others' lore,- 
To set aside this jeweled mind, whose spring, 
The very fountain head of action, is a soul 
Alive among it fellows ;-T-rich in life, — 
Not dead and buried in the past, only 
To be the mirror for departed thoughts ! (r. c.) 
Give me that man whose life is in the present ! 
Whose thought, the very object of his being, 
Is ^ but to gf^ild each moment as it flies, — 

Each following one — more golden than the last ! 

{Exit, R. 2. E.) 

Re-enter Aram and Madaline, r. u. e. 

Aram, {as they enter.) True, — I'm not made to live 

among mankind ! *- 

They stir dark memory from unwilling sleep. 
And — but, no matter ! ( They seat themselves on 

the garden seat, c. ; Aram then continues.) 
Madaiine, 'tis strange 

That one like thee, for whom, methinks, fair Love 
Should wear its bravest and most gallant garb. 
Should e'er have cast her heart's rich freight 

upon 
A thing like me ; — not fashioned in the mould 
Which wins a maiden's eye, — austere of life, 
And grave and sad of bearing, — and so long 
Inured in solitude as to have grown 
A man that hath the shape, but not the soul 
Of the world's inmates. 
Madaline. 'Tis for that I love. 

The world I love not, therefore I love thee ! — 
When first thou cam'st into these lone retreats. 
My years yet dwelt in childhood ; but my 

thoughts 



26 EUaENE ABAM. [AcT II. 

Went deeper than my playmates'. Books I 

loved, 
But not the books that most woo woman's heart. 
All that I dreamed of sympathy was given 
Unto those lords of Mind — the victor chiefs 
Of Wisdom, — or of Wisdom's music — Song. 
And, as I read of them, I dreamed, and drew 
In my soul's colors, shapes my soul might love. 
And loving worship, — they v/ere all— like thee ! 
Thou cam'st unknown and lonely, and around 
Thy coming, and thy bearing, and thy mood, 
Hung mystery, — and, in guessing at its clue, 
Mystery grew interest — and the interest — ^Love. 
Abam. {aside.) Oh, woman !~how from that which 

she should shun. 
Does the poor trifler draw what charms her 

most! 
Madaline, {continuing.) — Then, as time won thee 

frequent to our hearth. 
Thou from thy learning's height didst stoop to 

teach me 
Nature's more gentle secrets, — the sweet lore 
Of the green herb, and the bee-worsbiped 

flower ; — 
And when the night did o'er this nether world 
Distil meek quiet, and the heart of Heaven 
With love grew breathless, thou wert wont to 

raise 
My wild thoughts to the weird and solemn 

stars ; 
And, of the winds, the clouds, th' invisible air, 
Make eloquent discourse, until, methought. 
No human life, but some diviner spirit 
Alone could preach such truths of things 

divine ! 
And so — and so — 
Aram. From Heaven we turned to earth, 

And Thought did father Passion. Gentlest 

love! 
If thou couldst know how hard it is for one. 
Who takes such feeble pleasure in this earth, 



Sc. 2.] EUGENE ARAM. 27 

To worship aught earth-born, thou'dst learn 

how wild 
The wonder of my passion, and thy power. 
But now, ere few months pass will you be mine, 
' And mine forever ! — Oh, delicious thought ! 
How glorious were the future, could I shut 
The past — the past from — {then starting up sud- 
denly.) Ha!— What stirr'd ?— Didst hear? 
Say, Madaline, — didst hear ? 
Madaline. {having risen.) Hear! — What? — the 
very air 
Lies quiet as an infant in its sleep. 
Abam, {looking around him suspiciously. ) Methought 

I heard — {then aside.) — a groan ! 
Madaline. What? 

Aram, {recovering himself.) 'Twas a cheat 

Of these poor fools — the senses. Come, thy 

hand ; 
I love to feel thy touch, thou art so pure — 
So soft — so sacred in thy loveliness, 
That I feel safe with thee ! Great Grod himself 
Would shun to launch upon the brow of guilt 
His bolt — while thou wert by ! 
Madaline. Alas! Eugene! 

Why dost thou talk of guilt ? 
Aram, {startled.) Did I, sweet love ? 

Did I say — guilt ? — It is an ugly word ! 
Art sure, indeed, I did say — guilt, my Madaline ? 
Madaline. {together i^. c.) In truth you did. Your 
hand is dry, — the pulse 
Beats quick and fevered! You consume too 

much 
Of life in thonght, — you over-rack the nerves. 
And thus, a shadow bids them quail and tremble. 
But, when I queen it, Eugene, o'er your home, 
ril see this fault amended. 
Aram, {half abstractedly.) So thou shalt ! 
In £Ooth, thou shalt! 

{Exeunt J l. 2. e.) 



28 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT II. 

Scene Third.— -^ room at Grassdale. {1st. grooves.) 
Enter Sir Rowland Lester and Walter, r. 

Sir Rowland, (as they enter.) Since you will go, 

you liave my leave and blessing. 
Yes, my dear boy, you have been to me more — 
Much more than nephev/, — you have been a son ; 
"And, as a father do I feel for you. 
"I know youth's hard to curb, — I once w^as 

young,— 
"And that its passions oft will swell beyond 
"The narrow limits of its 3'oung control ; 
"But Time, — the great o'ercomer of all things, 
"Does surely overcome its weakness too, — 
"Till, like the tender sapling which each breeze 
"Did bend, it stands at length a sturdy tree 
"Whose branches yield not to the storm. 

Walter, 
I speak you frankly, — once there was a time. 
When notling Madaline and you, I cherished 
A hope, your cousin's love would grow more 

near ; — 
But this Time now hath changed into content, 
Seeing her happiness did grow elsewhere. 
"Hearken to me, my — son : — Wouldst thou be 

happy, 
"Go then into the world and make it happy ! 
"Trouble not others with thy griefs, and then 
"Thy griefs will never trouble thee. — Thy face — 
"Let it be one of smiles, and all around 
"Will smile. All that does live and move about 

us 
"Does but reflect ourselves ! Smiles — when we 

smile, 
"Frowns when we frown, — and when we weep, 

sheds tears. 
Walter. Uncle, no more ! I cannot think with you. 
Sir Rowland. Because youth ne'er can think with 

age;— 
And better 'tis, 'tis so, — for were it not, 



So. 3.] EUGENE ARAM. 29 

Youth's dewy sweetness soon were fled, indeed. 
But one thing more, — 3'our father. 
Unlike to mine, his youth was wild and reckless, 
His disposition roving, and his temper — 
Like yours, my boy, too quick — too passionate ! 
"Well — ^well ! — He met your mother, and a change 
Seemed to come o'er him ; he became more 

staid, 
And soon he grew to love his home as naught 
Could tear him from its sweet, quiet embrace. 
But how, alas! man still misjudges all 
Weighed in the balance of his own weak mind I 
After your birth your mother died, and then 
The life he'd set aside he sought again ; 
His love for home proved but his love for wife. 
He placed you in my charge, and then departed, 
Whither I knew not. Walter, since that day, 
But once have I e'er heard of him, and then 
He was in India, about to sail, — 
Again tired of his roving life, — for home. 
There was some other reason I -suspect, 
For, I was told, he'd changed his name to Clarke. 
Years have now passed since then, yet still I 

feel 
That he's alive ; — that ere he reached his home, 
Perhaps in very England here, something, — 
A deed done, — or a whim, caused him once more 
To yield to his old ways. Need I, my boy, 
Charge you to use all diligence, — to lose 
No single clue, which followed to an end. 
May give to you a Sire, — to me a brother ? 
Walter. No ! for I, too, have had such hopes as 

thine ! 
I^who have dreamt my father living, — seen 
His look, and felt his touch of blessing, only 
To wake and find it but a happy dream, — 
I need naught but my own high hopes to teach 

me 
The duty I owe him, — that I owe thee ! 
Sir Rowland, {enthusiastically.) My boy — my boy, 

there spoke your mother's spirit ! 



30 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT 2. 

You will not fail, my boy, yon will not fail ! 
And then, when in the end 3fou shall return, 
Your father at your side, — old as I am, 
My heart warms at the thought, and pictures 

forth 
A thousaiid little scenes of happiness. 
Which wiii til! the thereafter ! Yes ! at once, 
I'll write the letters you will need, — now while 
My mind and heart are all aglov/ with hope ! 
Never a better time to do a deed. 
My boy, than when the humor is upon us ! 
And, — as for Madaiine, my boy, — why, let 
This business crowd that honest folly oui. 

{Exit, L.) 

Enter Ellinor, r., unseen by Walter. She paus- 
es, R., loatching hinn. 

AYalter. (c, looking out aftei^ Sir Rowland.) 

Good, kind, old man, I would I could repay thee 
For all thy fatherly Idndness, — ail thy care, 
Which so would rob my memory of my father, 
That I, at length, did feel how sweet 'twould be 
To call thee lather,— by a sacred right. 
Alas ! a young man's hope& are naught but 

phantoms, 
With which the opium di'eams of pleasure fill 
His mind ; — and e'en as dreams they pass away ! 

Ellinor. {aside, r. c. ) He's wrapped in thought. — 
I would — yet would not speak ! 
Yet, now he is alone ; and — {then aloud, ap- 
proaching G. ) Walter ! 

W^ alter, {turning.) Ah ! 

Ellinor ? 

Ellinor. Pardo 1 1 I should not have spoken. 

Walter. Nay ;- why r — I was alone; unless, indeed, 
We call our thoughts companions; and if so, 
Mine then are most unwelcome company. 
Compared to you. What wouldst thou, cousin ? 
speak. 

Ellinor. You are about to leave us, Walter. 



So. 3.] EUGENE ARAM. 31 

Walter. True. 

To-morrow's niglit will close and there will be 

A vacant chair at Grassdale; — ^yet, perhaps, 

Little the loss, — save unto him who leaves. 
Ellinor. Nay, say not so ! We all shall miss you 
much, 

For you have been much to us all, — 
Walter. {;interrui?ting, significantly.) To all? 
Ellinor. {not heeding the interruption.) Unto our 
father, you have been — a son. 

To Madaiine, and me — a brother. 
Walter, {half aside.) " True! 

A — brother. 
Ellinor. Say not, then, we shall not miss you. 
Walter. I was unkind ! Forget I e'er did say it. 
Ellinor. I will. And now, I have — that you may 
still 

Know there are some who love to think of you, — 

I have — 
Walter, {surprised.) Ellinor! 
Ellinor.' {handing him a purse.) Made you this. 
Walter, {taking it.) A purse! 

In which to store my memory of thee ? 
Ellinor. {not seeming to note Walter's last line.) 

It is a small, — aye, simple gift, — but one 

Which will be with you always ; — one to use. 

Which often as you use, will turn your thoughts 

To — home. 
Walter. And you, Elhnor, whose dear hand 

Gave form and delicate beauty to it, 

And, last of all, gave — v/orth ! 
Tllinor. {aside.) Worth — worth? — Oh, joy! 

I cannot trust myself to more, {starts, r.) 
Walter, {following her.) Nay, — hold! 

Ellinor, — cousin ! 

Re-enter Sir Kowland, l., uith letters, unseen. 
On seeing Walter and Ellinor, he stops 
short, L. c, surprised, and luatches them in 
silence. 



32 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT 2. 

Ellinoe. {aside, still going.) No ! I dare not stay ! 

{Exit, Ellinor, r.) 

Walter, (r. g. ) Gone! Then I'll follow her! 

{Exit Walter, r.) 

Sir Rowland, {crossing the stage. ) His father's son ! 
My brother's very counterpart ! — But now 
He would have died for love of Madaline, 
And here I find him warming o'er her sister ! 
Youth's a gay bird ; mates where the fickle wind 
Of circumstance hath latest borne him, with 
No seeming thought upon the past — or future 1 
Much do I fear this hastiness of mind, 
This careless riding, tempest haste, with passion, 
This giving to great actions little thought, 
Will, in the end, reap him but bitter harvest. 

{Exit, R.) 



Scene Fourth. — The woods in the neighborhood of 
Grassdale. {full stage.) The stage represents a 
small cleared space. For^est wings r. & l. ; dense 
set grove, b. Time — evening. During the scene it 
grows gradually dark. 

Enter Aram, sloiuly, from r., through the grove 
in B. 

Aram, {solus, coming down, c. ) Oh, what a petty, — 

puppet thing is man ! 
Man, whose high soul — that subtle mystery 
Of life, — that strange, iavisible link 'twixt earth 
And Heaven ! — dreaming of mightiness, awakes 
To learn how vain his will to mould his life; — 
To build an own, untrammeled future ! — Lo ! 
I, — who in youth did dream of lasting fame, — 
Who had already touched the golden round, 
And felt the thrill of greatness, — I, — alas 1 
Saw in one hour, my smoothly current life 
Break into foaming rapids on the rocks, 
Eate's hand had raised, {pause.) Since that 

one, awful moment. 



So. 4] • EUGENE ARAM. 33 

Ali thoughts of fame have fled! — for, to be 

great,— 
Aye, ol' all earth the gi.eatest ! — will not wash 
The gLiill: from off the soul ! — will not pluck out 
The sting of conscience from my heart, or bid 
The ghostfnl spectre of the past to vanish ! 
'Tvvillnot bring peac.j back ; — nor sweet sleep! — 

Sleep, that. 
Was wont to sLea.1 my being heavenward 
To commune with the blest, — that now conjures 
Visions of he] ! to haunt me, till, at last, 
I Lave become a thing of fits and start. — 
A coward of the night — a dreader of the day ! 
xi.nd yet — yet I, — tnis tool of circumstance, — 
This seer of ghosts, — this mutterer of guilt, — 
I seek to link my late with one, whose life 
Is purer even than heaven's unfallen dew ! — 
And wherefore should this be ? — 'Tis strange ! 
This thing, called Love, which is of heaven born, 
Should teach us to preserve its object heavenly 

pare, 
And shun degrading it with our own stain. . 
Hath man not power, nor reason o'er this too ? 
Cannot he will — will ! — who can will ? 
The great o'ermaslerer of all things cries, — 
— It is determined so ! — and we, alas ! — 
Move on unto the unknown end, — the present, 
And our own griefs — thep.ist, our only knowl- 
edge ! 

Enter Walter, quickly, l. 1. e. — Both he and 
Aram dart on seeing each other, Walter 
dopping l. c, Aram drawing back, c. 



Aram, {drawing hack, his face darkening.) 

What ! — Walter Lester ! — you an eavesdropper ? 

Walter. What, sir ? — an eavesdropj)er ? — 'Twas 
chance alone. 
Aye, merest accident, I crossed your path. . 
Believe me, sir, I would have shunned this spot, 



34 EUGENE ARAM. [ AcT IT. 

Known I it was your haunt as well as mine. 

I marvel much we never met before. 
Aram. Your haunt ? Have you the need, — you, too, 
the love 

For solitude ? — Young man, beware of it ! 

Shun it ! it is a malgrowth of the mind ! 

'Tis a deformity which th'outward world shrinks 
from ! 

It is the r.'>fuge of a burdened conscience. 
Walter, {crossing to r. c.) Good Master Arain, I 
know not the right 

By which you have become my tutor. 
Aram, {surprised. ) Ah ! 

Walter, {continuing.) My uncle's favor, — nay, not 
e'en the place 

Which in his family soon you hope to gain, 

Gives you o'er me a right of tutorship. 

True, since 'tis said you're learned, I will do 

Your fame this homage :— seek I for advice, 

I'll coma to you. I want none now. Adieu. 
{starts.) 
Aram. Stay, — stay ! I was presuming. Pardon me, — 

Pray, pardon me. — You leave these parts to- 
morrow ; 

Part we m peace ; — your hand — and let us be — 
Walter. {interrupting, refusing Aram's proffered 
hand. ) 

In turn, your pardon; I seek not your friend- 
ship ; 

I cannot give my hand — my friendship's gage. 
Aram. Hold ! — Walter Lester, hear n e ! y ou are 
rash ! 

What have I done to merit your ill-will ? 
Walter, {loho throughout the foregoing has with 
great effort kept his temper down, now yields 
to it.) 

Dene ? — done ? — plucked from my life the life ! — 
the rose 

Its perfume ! — Done ? — Why that which is 
enough 

To set a sea of hatred 'twixt us ever ! 



Sc. 4] EUGENE ARAM. 35 

To seal thee as my foe eternal ! — Nay, 
Pale not ; — I have compassion on the scholar 
Who hath neglected manliness, and lacks 
The use of weapons to defend him. You 
Are ill no danger, sir, till you have learned — 

Aram, {interrupting.) Beware, young man, be- 
ware ! I have patience, true, — 
But patience sometimes fails, and then — 

Walter, {^scorr fully.) What then? 

Aram. Then passion takes the rein and governs 



man 



Walter. {a:i before, laughing.) Ha! ha! — Plato 

would mimic Mars ! — ha ! ha ! 
Aram. {beginning to feel y^KLT^Si^ taunts.) Still — 

still, will you provoke me ? 
Walter, {insultingly, excited.) Aye, will I! 

It is the thing that I have longed, and prayed 

for! 
The thought of it has been my meat and drink 
For days! 't has closed my burning eyes at 

night, 
And opened them at morn ! 
Aram, {aside ) Angels restrain me ! 
Walter. {continuing.) To rouse thy lagging 
spirit, — if thou hadst one ! 
To spurn thee, — if thou'dst not ! — hath been my 

aim. 
Since that accursed day thy serpent presence 
Pois6nd my -life, — robbed it of all its worth ! 
Then swore I an eternal hatred to thee, — 
A vengeance, if I could, — against thy peace ! 
Aram. Your words are tire, but, look you, I am 
calm. 
?'hat which you do accuse me ol, granted, 
Is but the course of nature ; — one's success 
Is still another's equal loss ; — 'tis common ! 
Our lives are built on others' fallen hopes. 
Fate hath decreed in this my gain, — your loss ; 
To-morrow comes, and I may fall, — you rise. 
Walter. Oh, you do well, in faith ! your tongue 
knows well 



oH EUGENE ARAM. [AcT II. 

Its duty ! pity 'tis, your rapier, sir, 

Prides itself not on such example. 
Aram. Ha ! 

Walter. 'Tis plain, having no manhood to parade, 

You screen your lacking in an argument. 
Aram. Enough ! I've borne what few men bear, — 
the taunts. 

And insults of a brainless boy,-^who rather 

Than yield to reason, vauats his childish folly, 

And seeks to be himself liis executioiier. 

Since jon will have it so— why then yoa shall ! 

You have accused me of a lack of manhood,^- 

A want of skill in arms, — you have misjudged. 

My early life was such that, fearing the need, 

I mastered all the skill man miiy acquire; 

And habit makes these still companions, even 

Though all of danger now is past. ( Takes from 
his boso7n a brace of pistols ; then showing 
' Ihem.) Behold, 

They are of equal length, and caliber. 

Take, ther, thy choice, — measure the ground, — 
and tiien 

Let Fate, — who rules all things, — decide the end. 
"Walter. I will I — What matters it or now, or — when ? 

For life — or death. — I weigh them equally; 

Let either be my lot. — This is my choice. 
Aram. The ground, now, measure. 
Walter, {excitedly.) True, — I had forgotten. 

Walter steps off the ground so that Aram stands 
near r. u. e., and he near l. 1. e He is very 
much excited and trembles. Aram is cool and 
coliec.'ed, — his movements firm and steady. 

Walter, {tahing position, l 1. e.) I am ready, sir. 

Aram. (r. u. e.) There is a custom, giving 
Unto the winner of a chance, the right 
To fire the first shot at his advesary, 
Who if uninjured then will fire at him. 
Courtesy also may award that right : — 
I now bestow it upon you. 



Sc. 4.] EUGENE ARAM. 37 

Walter. By Heaven! 

You act as you were sure of life. 

Aroi. {who throughout this entire scene has been as 
forbearing towards Walter as possible, now 
evinces that quiet selfcomposure which forms 
one of his characteristics, especially when fac- 
ing danger; and, taking no notice of Walter's 
last remark, addresses him coldly, with deter- 
mination.) Art ready? 

Walter, {excitedly.) I am. 

Aram, {slowly, fixing his eyes full upon Walter's.) 
One — two — three — fire ! 

(Walter fires; Aram stands erect, uninjured.) 

Walter, {enraged.) What — missed! a curse upon 

my arm ! — it trembled; 
And when I should have aimed, I could not 

sio'iit ! 
Five, sir ! — 'tis now your turn ! 
Ap im. {pointing, r. 2. e. ) Note you where yonder 

elm hath lost its bark, — 
A space scarcely a sovereign's size ? — Watch it. 
(Walter, mysiJfied at Aram's condvc!;, turns his 

eyes towards the tree; as he does so, Aram 

fire'i, striking the spot in its cepire. He then 

con'inues, to Walter.) 
See, where my faithi'al ball hath piezced its 

centre. — 
Read you my lesson ? — You are satisfied,— 
And so am I. l^iy life was in your hands; — 
You fired ond failed, — failed, as I knew you 

would. 
For well I saw how passion palsied you. 
Your life was then your forfeit, and my prize, — 
Aye, mine beyond a doubt, for I ne'er fail ! 
I give it back; I do not seek your death. 
Walter. What ? — owe my life to thee ! by Heaven, 

I rather 
Had had thy bullet pierce my heart, than this ! 
Nay, smile i.ot proudly so ! — I take thy gift; 



H8 JcuuEj^ii- ARAM. [Act II. 

But know that with my lile n^y hatred lives, 
And that the day shall come,— by Hefi;ven, I 

swear it ! — 
AVhen my full debt of yengeance shall be paid. 
Think on it, — dream on it, — it is your fats ! 
{ThiOivs down the pistol, and goes out haj-riedly, 

E. 1. E., Aram watching him in silence. As 

Walter goes out, enter Houseman, l. 1. e., 

unseen by Aram. ) 
Houseman, {aside, entsring.) I heard shots — Ah! 

that's Aram, by all hell ! 

{stands, l., ivatching.) 
Aram, {coming down, c, and pickijig up pistol.) 

Youth's meteor course must pale; he will forget 
This rush of passion in the next one's rise. 
{then as he stoo/^s to pick up the pistol, he sees 

Houseman, and recognizing him, starts up.) 
Thou ! thou — Here ? — itichard Houseman ! 
Houseman. Thy memory sees bravely through the 

change, 
Ten years have wrought. Yes Aram, Richard 

Houseman ! 

{As Houseman starts to approach him, Aram 
shrinks back, and the curtain falls. ) 



END OF ACT THE SECOND. 



80, 1,] EUGENE ARAM. 39 



ACT ITT. 

Scene Fikst. — xIram's study, {full stagp..) richly fur- 
nished, in marlvd controM vith Scene Second, Act 
Fird, A low window in flat, b. c, opening out- 
ward, — the sash raised, and shutters closed, — vjhen 
open, shelving prospect illumined by the moon, the 
light ofichich comes Uiroagh the tvindow. 

Akam, discovered, alo7ie, pacing the room in an 
anxious, excited manner, pausing momentarily 
to listen, as if for some one's approach. 

Aram, (c.) The hour appointed has just struck! 
Houseman 
Is seldom far behind his time. — Was he 
Engaged in last night's robberj ? I should dread 
His apprehension as it were my doom ! — 
Yes, — yes ! I have resolved; — it must be so ! 
We cannot live thus near, — one must leave Eng- 
land. 
(Aram 'resumes pacing the room. During the 
foregoinn, the window has been cautiously 
opened from loithout, and Houseman appears. 
He pausc3 a second, then cauciously enters 
through the window, unseen by Aram, — com- 
ing slowly down and seating himself, c, and 
then loatches Aram in silence. Presently 
Aram, happening to turn, sees Hous^eman, and 
starts buck, at first startled, but on recognizing 
him, angered.) 
Aram. Houseman ! — How came you here? — What 
does this mean? 
(Houseman breaks out into a boisterous laugh.) 
Speak ! tell me how — how came you hither? 
(Houseman, still laughing, points to the window.) 

Ah!— 
Why stole you thus upon me ? — Answer me I 
Houseman, (laughingly.) I would not harshly break 
in on your mn sings; — 



40 EUGENE ARAM. | AcT III. 

For I have read, that when the mind's com- 
posed — 
Aeam. {interrupting.) Cease! — But, hearken a warn- 
ing: — if you thus 
Creep in upon me in the future — 
Houseman, {scornfully. ) What ? 

Aram. Your life might be the forfeit. — I am hasty, 
And might, when startled, do a deed of rashness 
Which afterwards I would repent me of. 
Houseman. Oh, I fear not! you will not take my 
life; 
'Tis of such use to you. 
Aram. Such use to me ! 

Houseman. It helps to share the burden of your 

secret ! 
Aram. Villain ! Your death — 
Houseman, {interrupting.) My death — would be 
your doom ! 
But there's no fear; — you wiU not, — dare not, — 
kill me. 
Aram, {i^oused.) Dare not! 

Houseman. Aye, dare not ! you love life too well, 
Or else, — fear death too much; — either you will. 
But come, — to business. I've no time to 

waste; 
I must be miles hence by the break of day. 
My last night's work — 
Aram, {interrupting.) Was't thou who robbed the 

Lesters ? 
Houseman. {smiling.) It was: — and more, — you 

helped me. 
Aram, {advancing toivards him.) 1, — thou villain! 
H0USEMA.N. {as be/ore, calmly. ) Stay ! — be not hasty ! 
I said not — in person. 
But, 'twas you gave me knowledge of the place. 
Which tempted me. Faith ! wish I you'd been 

dumb. 
For I have roused the hounds of law, whose 

fangs. 
Unless I take myself away, I'll feel. 
Aram. Would they might take you ! 



Sc. 1.] EUGENE AEAM. 41 

Houseman. Wty, if so you will, 

Thyself shall apprehend me,— make the charge, 
Aye, — based on iny confession; I'll plead guilty; 
And then, I shall be hanged for robbery! — 
Eut, ero I hang, — I'll make my last confession; 
Till how a man, — named Clarke, — was killed; 

by whom, — 
And where: — ha! ha! — will you arrest me? 

Come ! 
(he aj^jjroaches akam, laughing iriumphantly.) 

Aeam. Devi], away ! — for man thon canst not be ! 
{Then changing his tone and hearing.) 
But come, — we will to business. 

Houseman, {as they sit, c.) "Well. Proceed. 

Aram. Ten years ago, when you and I last parted, 
We little thought we e'er should meet again. 
In me, 'twas more than thought, 'twas earnest 

hope ; 
For, you had been the blaster of my life; — 
The serpent that did tempt the weaker part, — 
The woman in me, — and did triumph ! Yes — 
Yes, Kichard Houseman, but for you my life, 
However lowly, — how unlike the dream. 
The high ambition of my youth, — had been 
Unstained, and free from blood. — Enough I 
The Past, — let pass! We've met, but now we 
part. 

Houseman. Part — yes; but not forever. 

AiiAM. Yes, forever ! 

I cannot live thus with my life a chance, — 
The gift or forfeit of thy hckle fate ! 
Or you, or I must bid farewell to England. 
'Tis you shall make the choice. 

Houseman. Aram, thou'rt mad ! 

Akam. ^o, no! I am not mad ! — Listen. To you, 
Whose life hath still been downward, step by 

step, 
Till the soul's sense of rest, man's love for Home, 
In thy long restlessness hath been erased, 
There is no land which you would call your own; 
E.ich is alike — if it but q-ives you life. 



42 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT III. 

To me, whose life hath been a seated one, 
Whose spirit would eternal rest, — England, 
My cradle, I would seek to make my grave. 
But if it must be so, and I must leave it, 
I am too old in griefs to shed a tear. 
Nay ! — speak not; listen ! I have pondered well 
On this; 'tis now my fixed resolve. Of you 
I ask no favor, I appeal to interest. 
Your home fixed out of England, and my hand 
Places in yours the title to an income, — 
Whatever sum it pleases you to name, — 
That shall provide thy wants, and comfort thee 
With that most blest assurance, — that thy life 
Depends not on the fortune of thy hands. 

Houseman. By Heaven ! Clarke's gold must bring 
you cent per cent. 
That you can offer thus. 

Aram. Man, you have err'd ! 

I never used that poor man's gold. No ! no ! 
Dost think that I could eat his blood? — Could 

drink 
His blood ? — could sit on it ? — could sleep on 

it?— 
Or in the slightest way subsist on it, — 
Use it to keep my soul and body fast ? 
You might do this, for you — you have no con- 
science ! 
The gold, for which I did a murder, lies 
Buried with him who with it lost his life. 

Houseman, {surprised. ) What ! place it in his grave ? 

Aram. I did. 'Twas his, 

Even in death. I could not call it mine. 

Houseman. How came you then to fortune ? 

Aram. She found me. 

A relative at death left me his wealth. 
Enough of this ! Wilt take my offer ? Speak. 
(Houseman .^eems wrapt in thought. Aram watch- 
ing him, continues, aitide.) 
Behold ! Self is the spring of human action ! 
Would'st wield a man, — a State, — the world it- 
self. 



So. 1.] EUGENE ARAM. 43 

Touch but that spring — and all is instant motion. 
Houseman. You leave't to me to fix the sum ? 
Aram. I do. 

Houseman. ( after a short pa use. ) What surety have 

I you will not deceive me ? 
Aram. The surety of my word — even my oath, 

And lastly, of the dec d itself, so drawn 

'Twill not be in my power to cancel it. 
Houseman. Aram, thou hast said truly; I have no 
home, — 

No love for rest on which to found a home; 

I care not where I live so that I live. 

Your offer is a fair one, yet I fear 

The sum that I shall name will make you pause. 
Aram. What is it? Speak. 

Houseman. Two hundred pounds a year. 

Aram. It shall be yours. 

Houseman, {aside.) What! given so prompt? It 
should 

Have been a hundred more, {aloud.) Then 
you accept? 
Aram. With these conditions added : — That the bond 

Shall take effect upon your leaving England, 

To cease the hour your foot retreads its soil; 

And, lastly, at my death 'tis forfeited. 
Houseman. How ? 
Aram. Yes ! for then my life's of interest to you. 

My death your loss. You will not cause it then. 
Houseman. You bind one close! — yet I accept. 

Your hand, and close the bond. 

And now, the deed ? 
Aram, {going to the t-Me, and sitting.) 'Tis here; — 
needs but my name. 

And the amount filled in, and all is done. 

{Re loritex, and hands the paper to Houseman.) 

Read it, — you have a knowledge of the law ; 

Wants it a word or more or less ? 
Houseman, {having read the paper, returning it.) Not 

one. 
Aram. Now then, my signature, {ivrites, and again 
hands paper to Houseman. ) Approve you it ? 



44 EUGENE ARAM. [_AcT HI. 

Houseman, {folding and pocketing it.) I do. And 

now I must be off at once. 
Aram. To Franc e ? 

Houseman, {starting.) To France; — Farewell. 
Aeam. {still seated at the table.) Forever! 

Houseman, {at the window. ' Yes — 

On earth, ti-] death ! We meet again — below ! 
{Exit Houseman, laughing, thj'ough the ivindoiu. 
Pause ; Aram listening as if to retreating foot- 
steps. When fully assured that Housemj^n is 
out of hearing, he rises triumphantly. ) 
Aram, {rising.) Thank God ! once more I'm safe, — 
once more am free ! 

The scene closes. 



Scene Second. — A room in a country Lin, near 
York. — ; in 1st grooves. ) — 

" Enter Walter, r., alone. 

Walter. Still has my search bcea fruitless. — 
still in vain ! 
I have found many OLirkes, — a name more com- 
mon 
I have not hit upon, — yet all are strange; 
Not one among the many in whose life, 
Or past or present, I can trace iny father. 
I have grown v/e;iry with incessant failure, 
And hope itself begins to pale. Alas ! 
Defeat still blunts the edge of enterprise, 
And hopes must topple from their cloudy 

heights, 
If met by an opposing thunder there ! 

{A pause, c.) 
My thoughts turn back upon the home I loft, 
But even ihere the current turns to gall. 
And I but view the ruin of my life, — 
The man whose poisoned presence blasted it. 
Smile in proud triumphiwife, while 'tis mine to 
weep ! 



Sc. 2.] ^ £U»ENE ABAM. 45 

No — no 1 it shall not be I There is a— something, 
Here, in my breast, which day and night doth 

cry,— 
His triumphfBi^ is but short, his doom is near, — 
That doom which is your vengeance ! Wait till 

then ! — 
Tis the prophetic voice of Fate that speaks, — 
His boasted Fate, the ruler of the world. 

Enter Cobporal Bunting, l. 

Bunting. Our post, your" honor's ready now for 

York. 
Walter. Look to our baggage, then. 

{Exit Bunting, l.) Yes, on to York, 
Where, as I hear, more Clarkes are to be found. 

{Exit, L.) 



Scene Third. — The interior of St. Robert's cave, {in 
the Uh and 5th grooves.) The entrance to the cave 
{in fiat, 4cth grooves, c.) grown round with mosses, 
climbing plants^ small growth, etc. The prospect 
loilhout the entrance — dense forest. Interior of cave 
very dark; prospect without — somewhat lighter. 
Time — night. A violent thunder storm is raging 
without, >ieen through the entrance, which continues 
ivitli varying fury throughout the scene. 

Enter Houseman, through entrance. He has on a 
large overcoat, and his hat is slouched over 
his eyes, to protect his face from the rain. As 
he enters he takes off his hat and dashes the 
rain from it, also shakes his coat. 

Houseman, {entering.) Thank Heaven, Richard, 
you are hero at last, — 
For, by Heaven, you ne'er weathered such a 

night ! 
It is as if the heavens and earth did each 
Conspire the other's ruin ! Such a night 



It is to make ths cov/ard shake with fear ! 
But now, as I did enter here, metLought • 
I saw tlie iiglitniag's forked i)rand, forgetting 
Its downward course, laount upward smiting 

Heaven ; 
And Heaven then smoto the earth with such a 

pealj 
The very v/ind seemed staggered in its course ! 
But Bichard thou must work. 
{He takes from under his coal; a dark-la nterrij vjAick 

he proceeds to light, at the same time talking. ) 
My money on a scholar for a fool ! 
Poor Aram, could not keep the gold, forsooth, 
Because he murdered for it ! Well, I thank him ; 
And thank his lack of shrewdness too, that tol'l 
Where he did store this treasure he despised. 
Odd, though, that he should place it in his 

grave;— 
But, there's no counting on a bookman*s 

whims ! 
How it still thunders, and it rains in seas ! 
{Th^n having by this time lighted the lantern^ 

mewing the cave, at fh> s^me time addressing 

it.) 
My old friend. Gave I your face is still the same 
That ten long years ago it was; browner 
Perhaps, mora wrinkled and more weatherworn; 
But mine you'll find as changed. Time has no 

favorites; — 
He treats us all alike, (r. o.) Ah ! here's the 

spot 
I — we struck him. And here we buried him, 
Like to a bloody hero, where he fell ! {laughs.) 
{Places lantern on ground and proQ.eeds to take 

off his overcoat. Thunder andlightning.) 
Now that I think on't I am glad it storms; 
I'll not be interrupted. Yerily, 
I ne'er saw aught of Heaven's help, before, 
In what I did ! A good jest, by my life ! 
Heaven—which is in the storm, lackeys to 

Hell— 



.-^.j EUaEXE ARAM. 4/ 

Which is myself, by shutting out the world, 

That I may do my work of darkness safely ! 

(He laughs and. lays aside his overcoat, displaying 
a short spade hung to his belt. Re takes it off 
during the foUoioing. Storm.) 

A.ram believes by this I am in France: 

And, so I shall be in another week. 

But, Aram had not wit enough to know 

That when he told me v^^here this treasure lay, 

I'd surely seek it, G-old, I love thee still ! 

Thou art my life, — my all on earth I G-old, gold I 
{Digs, at the same time continuing.) 

Aye, blow — blow — ^blow, and rain — and rain — 
and blow I 

This ground is like a rock ! If I remember, 

We made his grave but shallow; — so much 
gained. 

I'll not be worn to death in finding him. 

{A loud clap of thunder; he starts up.) 

Heavens, what a clap was that ! 

Had it been Clarke's own voice so howling at 
me, 

I were not startled so ! ( Then recovering him- 
self, OMd breaking out into a laugh.) Ha I 
ha ! Clarke's voice ? 

Aram had sworn a thousand oaths 'twas Clarke's ! 

{Laughs again, and 7'esumes his spade.) 

Ha I — Something hard ? A bone ? — nay ! — it is 
gold 1 

Aram lied not! {He gets upon Ms knees, and 
with the aid of the mitern, ivhich he holds 
over the grave, he searches and takes out sev- 
eral gold coins. Tlien placing the lantern 
again on the ground, he rises, and resumes 
his digging. ) Deeper — Deeper. — What's 
that? 

His bones, by Jove I — and — skull ! {He rises, 
kneeling, taking the skull in his hands and 
examining it. ) 

Poor skull, thou'rt cracked ! 

I wonder what thou'dst give to say I did it ? 



4.R 



EUGsi-E APvAM. [Act III. 



Bnt 'tis no use;— fchou art past speaking now I 

(Puts the skull down mid goes on searching.) 

Ahj here it is ! — gold — thank thee Aram !— gold! 

{He fakes out a number of coins ivhich he lays 
on the ground beside him. Lastly he takes 
out a miniature. He pauses^ looking at it. ) 

Bnt what is this ? a locket, — miniature ? 

His wife's, or sweatlieart's, I will wager. Ah ! 

I cannot be mistaken ! 'Tis the same 

Tliat Aram always wore, — his mother's gift. 

The fool 1 — Because that night 'twas smeared 
with blood, 

Plain, he has feared to wear it, and for fear 

'Twould speak, and so betray his guilt, ha ! ha ! 

He has interred it with his victim. {Laughs, 
and coniinues his search. Then taking out a 
letter-case and examining it. ) What ? 

A leather, pocket letter-case ? True — true; 

We took no papers from him, 'twas his gold 

Alone we wished. I'll look at it, and then 

Bury it again with his old pate and bones. 

{Just' at this instant Bunting's voice is heard.) 
BuNTiKCi. {without J off Jj. U. E.) 

Here— here, your honor, — sure and this is the 
place. 
IIor>-;p:*!'AK, ' ■, ■/■^^^ a/y, ^-/ox;;?// Ha-' ■window of the 
V;- ; : . ' '■ (:■!■ /« noiV.^ n.jul drawing his 
;):.<:■/ :t'''_r - .; ^ cJ-lo' .<iU')f' lime oroc:f<ing to 
L. -. fr..-^u-; 

Discovered i—Iioll ! — They shall pay dearly for 



It 



Unter, thrGugh entrance, quickly, Coeporal Bun- 
Tma i'inmediately followed by Walter. Both 
drenching -ivet, and as if seeking shelter. As 
soon as Bunting is visible within the cave, 
Houseman ^r6s at him. 

Bunting, {stopping suddenly, frightened.) 
I'm hit, your honor ! 
( Waltee almost immediately on HousEMAN's_^n?i^, 



Sc. 3.] EUGENE ARAM. 49 

draws his piatol, and, having seen Houseman 
by the flash of his instol, fires at him.) 

Houseman, {falling, l. c.) Oh! Impatient Hell! 
I'm done for — hit to death ! 

Walter, [^to Bunting.) Where are you hit? 

Bunting. Indeed, and I don't believe I'm hit at all, 
at alj, your honor; and ytt — jou paid the vil- 
lain well for it. But it's bad luck we've had 
sure; — first to lose oar^ay, and then to be near 
drowned in this old N(^«'s storm, when all to 
once I mind me of this cave, — and then, your 
honor, when the Lord spared us till we found if, 
to have the blessed devil himself spit fire at us, 
for a seeking of its sh^dter, — your honor. 

Walter, {provoked.) Peace ! 

Houseman, {raising himself upon one arm.) 

Whoe'er you are who thus have been my de ith 
List, — I 

Walter, (c; S^^eak. 

Houseman, {suddenly seized with a horror if the 
darkness, — almost frajiticly. ) 
Give — give m;-5 some light ! — light — light ! 
Quick! where — where is my lantern? draw its 

door ! 
(Walter finds the lantern and draws its door. 
On beholding the seen.'', he starts back aghast. ) 

Bunting, {recognizing Houseman.) 

I'll siy my prayers to it, this villain is 
The same I saw a month ago at Grrassdale ! 

Houseman, {sinking back, as though relieved.) 
0-0. 

Walter. What place of sacrilege is tliis ? 
A grave, — and bones unearthed ? 

BuNTNG. (r. c. at grave, picking up a coin.) 
And gold, your honor. 

{Pockets coin ivith by -play, picks up another, and 
ditto. ) 

Walter. Gold ? — Speak, thou man of horrors ! — 
what is this ? 

Houseman, {as if suddenly struck by the thought, 
raising himself again, as before. ) 



Ij) EUGENE ARAM. [AcT III. 

Speak ? Yes — yes, that is left to me ! — I will! 
For if I die, I swear another shall; — 
He shall not triumph in my death ! no, no ! 
Walter. What words are these ? — Who triumph? 
Housema:^^. {raising himself still higher, exultingjy.) 

Eugene Aram ! 
Waltes. [starting hack.) Eugene Aram ? 
Houseman, {as before.) Yon knov/ him then? ha! 
ha! 
He is a murderer ! 
Walter. A murderer ! 

Bunting, {to Walter.) Did I not say, your honor, 
that his face, — 
This same big scholar's hice, looked like a 
rogue's ? 
Walter, (t^o Bunting.) Peace! (Bunting conso/e8 
himself by taking another coin, — business as 
before, as Walter contiaes, to Houseman } 
You, who do accuse this man — Beware ? 
Death is upon you; — speak, — but speak the 
truth. 
Houseman. The truth ? Dost doubt my word ? — 
Listen — listen ! 
Ten ysars ago this Aram lived in York, — 
I lived there too. — Ten years ago, — one night — 
Why do I tremble now remembering it ? — 
Oh, — I am faint ! — One night we lured a man — 
The man whose skull lies there, into this place. 
And here we murdered him — Aram and I — 
For gold — gold ! (Bunting goes through coin 
business again.) I — I must be brief — I 
faint. — • 
■ We buried him there, {points to the grave.) 
shared the gold — and parted. 
We met no more until one month ago. 
He feared my presence — and he threatened me 
With death unless I did leave England; — fear. 
And promised gold from him, wrung my con- 
sent. 
I left him — not till I had learned, — !he fool 
To tell it ! that the gold he murdered for 



Sc. 3.] EUGENE ARAM. 51 

He dared not use, and so had buried here — 

Here in his victim'^ grave. The sum was large; 
(Bunting repeats coin business.) 

I came to seek it here — and have found — Death! 
Walter. * Swear 3'ou, a dying man, that this is true ? 
Houseman. Aye ! — as I look to Hell as my hereafter ! 
Walter. Swear not by such an oath. 
Houseman. { finding the miniature on the ground.) 

Here — here is proof ! 

'Tis Aram's— it was worn upon that night — 

'Twas smeared with blood — therefore with — 
with the gold 

He buried it ! Take it. — If at its sight 

His guilt ishow not itself in every feature, 

Then say I died a liar ! 
Walter. Y/ho was thy victim ? 

Houseman {pointing to the letter-case, c.) 

There, — that vv^as buried with him;— ttwas his — 

It Vv'ill tell that ! His name — oh ! Heaven, that 
pang 

Has rent my hfe! — His name — was — Daniel 
.Clarke. {He falls back, dead.) 
Walter, {starting bach, aghast.) 

Great Heaven ! — Daniel Clarke ! — 

{The curtain falls. ) 



END OF ACT THE THIRD. 



52 EUGENE ABAM. [ACT IV. 



ACT IV. 

Scene First. — The garden before Aram's residence, 
near Grassdale. {in 1st grooves.) 

Time — morning. The scene very bleak. 

Enter Aram, r., alone. 

Aram, {as he enters.) My marriage day — my mar- 
riage day ! — and, lo ! 
Nature herself frowns on my happiness. 
Her all pervading chill dampens my spirit, 
And brooding thoughts hang heavy over it. 
The sun, himself, hath not come forth to-day, 
But, wrapt in cloud, pursues his zenith course. 
As he would hide from his propitious eyes 
Something that is to be ! 
It is a day does prophesy of woe, 
And yet, it does not prophesy for me 
More than for all who feel its dismal shade. — 
Out — out upon these thoughts ! Woe hath no 

place 
In such a day as this — my marriage day ! 
There is no outward darkness should appall me 
When all within is bright ! — Oh, Madeline ! 
This day, which gives thee to me, gives me 

more — 
Much more of earth's too fleeting happiness 
Than e'er I hoped should be my poor life'a lot. 
Poor the return that I can give ! A life 
Whose growth in solitude hath warped my mind, 
And shut it out from all the world ! a heart 
Before unknown to love — untried to feeling ! 
A soul — oh, Heaven ! — dyed with — No ! — 

Enough ! 
Avaunt thou deadful thought I — avaunt thou — 

Past! ^ 
This is my wedding day, and I must smile. — 
Smile ? — Fear of a discovery is passed; — 
He who alone might — could betray me, now 



Sc. 1.] EUGENE ARAM. 53 

Is safe away in France ! Yes, I can smile.. 

( The church hells heard off in the distance. ) 
Are those my wedding bails ? How strange they 

sound, 
In the damp air, mournfully. Fie, oh, fie ! 
That idle superstitions thus should haunt me! 
The mood of nature hath no rule o'er us; — 
When it is joyous oft 'tis ours to weep, — 
When it weeps may not happiness be ours? 
Tiie bulls invite, — the promised hour hath come ! 
To thee, my Madeline, — almost my wife 1 

{Exit, L.) 



Scene Second. — A room at Grassdale. {in ^nd grooves. ) 
Enter Sm Kowland, r. 

Sir liOWLAND. At last the parting day hath come. 

Well, well ! 
Though my eyes dim, my spirit is rejoiced. 
Sheis a good girl, few there are so good ! 
Ko ! I should not complain that now she leaves 

me, 
F^^r 'tis the destiny ot love — and woman; 
And yet, an old man who hath measured life. 
Numbered its joys, — irs cares too great to tell! 
Feels his eyes water, — his hand grow infirm, 
When he must open life's uncertain portals 
For his own child. A father little knows 
A pfirent's love, nor knows a child's great worth, 
Till comes the solemn hour which marks their 

parting, 
Be it iu marriage, or — in death. 

Enter Peter, l. 

Peter. Ah — Mistor Aram's come, your honor. 

{Exit Peter, l.) 
Sir Rov/land. Is it so near the hcur? I knevv^ it 
not. 



51 EUGENE ARAM. [AoT IV. 

Thought is a careless reckoner of time. 

And lets the nimble footed seconds freely, pass, 

So they break not his reverie. — He comes. 

His step is light ! — it is the step of joy, — 

Impatient hope, nearing its consummation ! 

Happy am I that I can serve him so. 

He is a man, — in all a man, — whose name 

Unblemished, and whose soul untaintable, 

Is Madeline's best safeguard, and to mo 

Best certainty of my girl's happiness. 

( TJien to Aeam, as he eiiters, l. ) 

"Welcome, my Eugene, — welcome as my son ! 

Aram, (c.) Son? Oh, 'tis years since I have heard 
that word ! 
And now it brings to mind my childhood's home. 
My mother, — visions of my youth, — the past — 
No! — we will hide the pas^ — in — present joy ! 
Give me thy blessing — father — as thy son. 

Sir Rowland. I do bless you; — you have my greatest 
blessing 
In Madeline. 

Aram. True ! Slue makes life a blessing. 

But, see the selfish man; though I think thuB, 
'Tis I would rob thee of her. 

Sir Eowland. Tut — tut, boy I 

We cannot cry down Nature ! cannot bid 
The sun rise in the west,— set in the east; 
Rivers to mount the hills; the clouds to rest, 
Nor make the windj the servants to oiir wills ! 
And, we cannot rule hearts, boy, either ! Nay I 
Not even rule our own. 

Aram. True ! least our own I 

Sir Rowland. Then say not you rob me of Made- 
line; 
'Tis she. in nature, robs me of herself. 
And lo ! she comes e'en now to prove my words. 

Aram, {looking out, r.) She comes, indeed! 
My own — my Madeline ! 

{Exit Aram, r., to meet her.) 

Sir Rowland, {watching them, out, -p..) AiioUmiui 
lives again his happy yoath. 



So. 2.] EUGENE ARAM. 55 

In the rich joys his children gather round him ! 
They come. Siie is as queenly as a rose, 
And full as delicate ! 

Re-enter xIeam, leading in Madeline, in her bridal 
costume, followed by Ellinor, also dressed in 
ichite, E. 

Sir Rov/LAND. {as they enter.) My Madeline', so did 
your mother look. 
Upon the happy da,j which made her mine ! 
It is an omen of thy happiness. 
To see thee thus resemble her. My child. 
Forever let her memory gladden thee. 
The memory of the cherished dead is still 
The surest safeguard to the living ! 'Tis 
A talisman against the ills witbin us, 
Turning our thoughts to Heaven. 

Aram, {aside.) Why sinks my spirit 

At those true words ? 

Sir Rowland, {continuing.) My children, both, I 
pray 
That 7yOur long loves may be, as mine has been. 
Fruitful of naught but purest happiness, 
Which age, still wdth thy rijjeuing years, shall 
mellow. 

];/L\DELiNE. Father, your love has ever blest me more 
Thau I can e'er return, even in love. 
For you, my dearest t sister, I am poor 
In speech, though not in heart, to tell thee all 
I feel for thee. Thou hast been my best friend, 
Compa,nion, confidant; — hast held the key 
Unto my heart to enter in at will. 
Thy love hath not been one of words, — but 

deeds; 
And, though I leave thee, yet my love remains. 

Ellinor. To knov/ thee happy pays me for thy loss. 

Madeline, {to her father.) For him, our absent 
cousin, 'twas my hope 
ilis pr;^sence wouLi adorn this day. 
Tell him, for me, that on my wedding day 



56 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT IV. 

I thought of him, and wished him here, and 

that 
I would not have him think in present joy 
The memory of the happy hours with him 
Had vanished. Tell him, they shall ever live. 
Thank him for me for all his many cares. 
His favors, — for the love that prompted them. 
Sir Rowland. I will, my Madeline. Walter is 

noble, 
Although, his youth is quick. ( The church bells 

heard in the distance.) But hark ! The bells 
Have grown impatient at our long delay. 
Come — come ! or else, the sexton's aching arm, 
And waiting friends, will chide us. Come, to 

church ! 

{Exeunt, l. ) 



Scene Third. — Interior of a church, — {of England , — ) 
before the altar, {full stage.) The altar, b. c, sur- 
rounded by railing. Discovered are — Clergyman, in 
his robes, within the altar railing, g., facing the audi- 
ence. Without the railing, Aram and Madeline, c, 
Sir Eowland, r. c, and Ellinor, l. o. On either 
side of stage, grouped from froid to b., are the spec- 
tators, composed of country gentry, villagers, etc. 

As the scene draics the Wedding 3Iarch heard 
from an organ, continuing a few moments 
aftei^wards. 

Clergyman, {after the organ has ceased.) Are all 

your friends assembled ? 
Sir Rowland. All are present. 

Clergyman. Shall then the ceremony be begun ? 

Enter Walter, hurriedly, l. 1. e. He is in trav- 
elling, riding habit, as if just arrived from a 
Journey. lie looks as if he had ridden very 
hard, and is very much flushed and excited. 



So. 3.] EUGENE ARAM. 57 

"Waltek. {as lie enters, overhearing the clergyman.) 
No ! it shall not 1 

{All suddenly turn and perceive Waxtee. Elli- 
^LT. pales and crosses over to Sir Rowland. 
Madeline catches hold of Aram's ai^m. Sir 
Rowland seems shocked and overcoyne by 
shame, and a dread of Walter's rashness.) 

Walter, [to himself, l. c.) I tliank tliee Heaven, I 

liiXL noL too late I 
Clergyman. What moans tiiis interruption? Wlio 
art thou, 
That BO diiturbest this &acrecl pLue : nd hour? 
Walter. I am that inau's accuser ! 
M/iDELiNs. (cliv.girg to Abam's arm.) Ah! 
A ram. ( releasing h imselfand. stepp ing o ut. ) A censer ? 
Sweet Madeline, uiJiand me Madeline. So. 
G-oo>l sir,— ijjy friends, — have patience. This 

yoiing mail 
Would force a hearing, — I will give it freely, 
\V"e\vill not grudge hirn words, for all here know 
That he is generous, and means n^.i harm. 
Walter. 1 mean thee harm, — the worst man gives 

to man ! 
Aram. Go on. What i,s it you accuse me of? 
Sib Rowland. {chj eking Walter.) Stop, boy! 
This shad not he ! 
Some malice ',is has driven you to this! 
Yv^ALTER. Uncle, beware ! you act you know not 
what. 
Patience till I have done, ;ind then defend him. 
Clergyman {to Walter.) God's house of worship 
is no place f:.r quarrels; 
If you ho'.d aughr at heart against this man, 
No better place there is to gicint forgiveness 
Than here t^efore His throne, who pardons all. 
Aram, {aside. ) Blest creed, indeed ! if it, indeed, 

be true. 
Walter, {io Clergyman) G-ood man, oi ^iU, this is 



iittest plact) 



::, - :.'OOEKL ..L_:.._ ;ACT lY. 

i o.' w ../.o i. ...r,>. o do! — Ii<.,;^..,,.o .^...-.^x. 
Before ibis nhrine, as tliou dosfc live this life, 
ADSwer; ---Didst g^'c^' '^''rc-'y one Bichar^l House- 
man V 
Aram, {darting and iurmnn paJe, aside.) Ab ! 

Honsanian ? What— wliafc means this ? 
Walter. :. ) Seel he pales 1 

Aeam. ( ^; ; No — no 1 it cannot be ! 

:.d Fsleeps now 
WitL.;. .. -..^aiess; Hoiis-ma7i isin Frano- ! 
Wbat if i own I luio?> ' 

Sm EOWLAND: ''^^ "^''aLTER, nvii^-g i>ilAM8 iill':^lWe.) 

Silence spealcs ! 

He knows iiim noL Walter, forbe: "- : ;^ 

n;'SS, 

Waltei'v. I wait his answer; let him answer me. 
Aram, {composedly,) I knew him once: — 
Ejionf;-!:, 'iwas years a,ii'c. 

WbL., c , 

Waltet-?, Mv f] lends; like mo, 3^ou^ foes 1 

vas well timed, {then turning to 
) You heard him, sirs ? 
Ke «.. ;iichard Houseman. Now, again ! 

Did.--' _ - .w a nrian named — Daniel Clarke ? 
Aram. {darUed a-> before, aside,) Clarl:. . : ' 

What means tb'is ? 
Walter, {to the people and. officers.) Marked tou 
all that start,: — 
And liow tlie frightened color Hed his face ? 
Natnre. thou art thyself no rjypocrite; — 
Forced to thyself thy course is still to truth! 
■'V>: :^: — come, an answer ! knew you Daniel 

AiiAivi. {witii forced compo^.ure, scornfully.) 

Hash boy 1 wliat right have yon. to question me ? 
I will not answer yon 1 

Sin Howl AND. Walter, be kind; 

If not -to him, unto thyself, — to me. 



::;0. O.] EUGENE AEAM. 50 

\y ALTER, {not heeding his uncle, to Afam.) 

But once again, and I am done wifch qiiestioas. 
Aram. I've said. I will not answer thee ! 
"\?ALTEs. {clraxoing from his bosom the miniature,) 

"Why then, 
i vml compel thy answer 1 Look yoii, here 1 
Know you this miniature ? 
AraMc (sniddenly recognizing it and snatching it from 
'\Yalter's ha'ad. very much excited, for gelling 
himself.) Great God ! my mother's! 
Why nov/ should destiny thus turn against me '? 
i Then suddenly becoming aware thai he is not 
alone, frightened at lohat he hay yaid and done. 
he continues.) 
Ila! hai What have I done • _ .^-i: .. .. ;i :..C:- . 
I ihoug;ht it looked like one tLat once I knew 1 
Tjiirprise confuses me I 
Walter. Ungrateful liar ! 

You know it wed; it was your uiuii^t;! 6 j^ik, 
..-:._: (again forgetting hirnself.) True — tri:e, her 

dying gift. 
Y'alteiL {to people and officers.) Look nov 
ha ! 
What more confession need wo of bis guilt ? 
Sir Kowland. Guilt 1 what guilt ? 
Akam. {again startled.) Wh^-t ';:^-'j t roiifessed ? 
"^.Yaltsr. {to officers.) You, sirs, 

Arrest yon murderci ; 
{General movement and exclahnation.) 
Aram, {excitedly, forgetting himself as before.) ■ 
'Tis false I I am no murderer ! No —no ! 
Wwas not my hand that did it ! {then suddenly 
checking himself, aside quicJdy) Oh, great. 
Heaven I 
That this late v/eakness should at last betray me I 
Off — off, all shows of fear I Deceit may still 
Protect me. — Aram, act thy falseho ^d out! 
lie v/ho accuses me can bring no ■ . 

{Then aloud, boldly.) 
Who is it that accuses u-.e of this ': 



GO EUGENE ARAM. [Acf IV. 

Waltes. I, Wciitcr Lester. 

Aram. Yoa ! my foe, my rival ? 

You (ire, indeed, a fit accuser ! 
Your malice, — your sworn vengeance makes 

tills cbtir,e, 
Wiiicli sober reason would have shamed you from. 
Walter. I but repeat the charge. He that has 
sworn it, — 
He is pJready dead, and by my hand, 
Gonfessing it v/as justice. 
Aram, (aside.) Houseman dead 1 
Clergyman. Good sirs, this is no placs for scenes 
like this. 
If yen respect it not, then Him respect, 
In whose f.',reat name I nov/ command you cease. 
Walter. God's vtngeance is on him v/ho takes a 
life, 
And here is fitting place for it to fall ! 
Aram. Say that this deed,, which you do char,'<e me 
with. 
Were done,— still vv^hat is Daniel Clarke to thee ? 
Walter. Dost hear? Again he does convict him- 
self ! 
He knows himself who was tho murdered man; — 
Witness, — I told it not ! 
Aram. Nay, answer me ! 

If it were Clarke, what is this Clarke to t'lee ? 
Walter. That, sir, whica would excuse the hasty 
deed, 
Did I enforce the forfeit of thy life 
Upon this spot ! — He was my Father ! 
Aram, (starting back terrified.) Father ! 
Sir Rov/land. My brother ! and, — ]ny frien.l — his 

murderer ! 
Ellinor. Oh, father ! — Madeline ! 
Aram, {partly to himself .) The end has come ! 
Sir E-owland. Walter, vv^hat proof of this ? 
Walter, {producing the letter-case and from it a 
paper. ) This certain proof ! 
Here is the very name of Geoffry Lester 
Coupled with Daniel Clarke. 



Sc. 3.] EUGENE AEAM. 61 

Madeline. ^ Eageuo, — Eugene, 

Tell me 'tis false ! I do believe it false ! 
Walter. Lo ! be is silent, {to the qficers. ) Do your 

clutj, sirs. 
Olbrgym:an. Heaven's will be done. 

{As the oficers advance towards Abam, the curtain 
falls.) 

END OF ACT THE FOURTPI. 



ACT V. 

Scene First. — The prisov, before the condemned cell. 
. {in 1st grooves. ) The door of the cell, practicable, c. d. 

Enter Aram, Jailor, and Attendant, l., from the 
■ trial. 

Aram, {as they enter.) 'Tis o'er, thank Hciven ! 
tliough for the worst, 'tis o'er ! 
Tug awful hour, — the dread suspense is past, 
And the to be cf Fate at last proclaimed. 
And now, — a few days more ! Oh, life, life, life ! 
'Tis but a breath begun and scarcely drawn 
But it is lost again ! — a heart's wild throb, 
Scarce felt— but all is still, and all again 
Is — nothing ! — But for thee — oh, Madeline ! 
Death had no sting for me. I would that I 
Had never seen thee, or — had never loved! 
Hard is thy lot, thou dear one, but may He, 
Whose justice is my dreadful doom, to thee 
Be merciful, and teach thee to forget 
Whose withered life so nearly blasted thine. 
Live thou to love again, for such is nature, 
One who shall be all worthy tliy pure soul ! 
Thy lovo will bless him as he ne'er was blest. 



62 EUGENE ARAM. [AoT V. 

Jailor, {opening cell door.) This, sir, is the con- 

clemne 1 cell. It is yours. 
Aram, {at the door.) How many hers liavo entered 
in, how few 
So readily. Death, the all end all, here 
Hath made his sure abode, aad he, poor soul ! 
Who enters here, inhabits with him. — Sir, 
Wilt take my hand, — a murderer's, bloody, hand ? 
I'd say farewell to one who still has life. 
Ere yet I cross this threshold unto Death. 
Jailor, {taking his hand.) I feel for you, sir. 
Aram. Spite thy stony calling, 

Thou hast a heart that's human ! Would to God 
Men's hearts were all like thine, then deeds of 

blood 
Were few and far between ! Farewell — farewell ! 
{He enters the cell and the Jailor locks him in. 
As he does so enter Walter, l., unperceived. 
He stanxU, l., watching.) 
Jailor, {locking the door.) This is a man more to 
be pitied than 
Condemned. One made not for an end like 

this. 
(Exeunt Jailor and Attendant, r., not seeing 
Walter, j 
Walter, {coming forward.) He's safely lodged ! — 
Stone w ills and iron bars 
Protect him, until Death, the end, shall come, 
xhoa art avenged my sire, and I am pleased ! 
The hand that took thy life, that blasted mine, 
Spite of its cunning, is all powerless now ! 
The great. — the good, — the wi^e, — the para- 
gon,— 
Aram, the scholar, upon whom all gazed 
To cry — There is a man who is above 
His kind; — a man whose life is heaven I3' 1 — 
Hath fall'n at last from his false height ! 
Oh, I can laugh, when I remember how 
'Twas — Aram this, and Aram that, ha ! ha ! 
He hath descended from his Delphic throne, — 
No more shall he be village oracle, — 



Sc. 1.] EUGENE AKAM. 63 

S liat to the good, the scourge aat o thj evil ! 
Oh, Fate ! his bo isted Fate that rules the 

world, 
I thauli thee that my duty and revenge 
Went hand in hand ! I am conteiited now ! 

{Exit, K.) 



Scene Second. — A room at Grassdale. {in ^th grooves.) 
Enter Sir Eowland and Physician, c. d. 

Sir Eowland. {as they enter.) Oh, sir, if you have 
any pity in you, — 
You are yourself a father, — give me hope. 

Physician. How long hath she been thus ? 

Sir Rowland. Since that dread day, — 

The trial day, — the day he was condemned. 

Physician, (c.) Hath she been violent ? 

Sir Eowland. (c.) Never much so. 

And yet a kind of gentle violence 
Sometimes o'erm asters her, but soon she tires, 
And then her thoughts will take the place of 

action. 
And grow, branching from her in many ways, 
As though her mind hung poised without a 
purpose. 

Physician. Tis common oft in weak and sudden 
natures. 
To yield thus to a shock. 
Time is the cure; for 'tis a malady 
More seated in the mind than in the body. 

Sir Eowland. In age to be beset with groaning 
griefs 
Burdens my mind, I fear, beyond my bearing ! 
These — these are not the closing scenes to life 
For which I daily prayed; that I did dream 
Already had begun to smile upon me ! 
Oh, that my life's long joys should thus be ended ! 



G4 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT V. 

Enti^r MADELINE; in her bridal GGstam-3, followed 
by Ellin oa, g. d. 

Madeline, {enlering.) Father. 

(Sir ItowLAND and Physician turn, startled.) 
Sib Rowland, {apart to Physician.) Lo 1 she has 

followed us. 
Madeline, (s.'o rly approaching.) Father. 

Sir Rowland. Alas ! poor daughter ? 
Ellinok. ((('.r/ji/ig Madeline's /ia?i(^ as if to stay her.) 

Sister ?— Madehne ? 
Madeline, {withdrawing her hand, shudder ingly). 

Your hand i^A cokl, — as it were hfeless, — cold ! 

{then after a slight pause, to Sm Bowland, slowly.) 

F:ither, is it not time ? Noon was the hour, 

And it is long — long — long past noon, for see — 

See how the shadows fall, (c.) 
Siii Rowland. Alas I ir.y child, 

Ther.- are no shadows here — {then apart.) 

Save those that pall our hearts ! 
Madeline, {in a determined manner.) I will to 
court, — I will unto the trial ! 

I have a right to go ! In one short hour 

I wouLl have been his wife, and now — and now — 
{she falls into a reverie.) 
Bm Rowland. {to Piiysician.) Hor mind goes 
back, forgetting still the present. 

She has forgotten that the trial's o'er. 
Madeline. Father, — bless me ! I've ever loved you 
dearly. 

So. — Now, I'll tell you ! 'tis a secret, — hush ! 

Eugene is innocent — yes, innocent ! 

¥/ho says that he is not ? 'tis false — 'tis false ! 

My Lord judge, — listen, — He is innocent ! 

Did I not tell you so, — saj^ did I not ? 

I knew he'd bo acquitted! See you, sirs, 

His very face would prove him innocent ! 
Physician. She still persists in wearing that same 
dress ? 



Sc. 2.] EUGENE ARAM. -65 

Sir Rowland. Sleeping or awaking it is still the 
same. 
She'll wear that dress she says till she is wed. 
Madeline. Hush ! — I've been walking with Eugene 
in Heayen. 
Oh, Eugene never starts there, no ! • — nor 

frowns; 
And never lets his eyes fall coldly on me ! 
His face is calm and bright, as is an angel's, 
And his voice ! — it thrills 'midst all the music 

there 
Sweeter and softer than their softest note». — 
And — we were married there, — married in 

Heaven I— 
Oh ! Ellinor, I am so happy now 
We were not wed before ! 
Sir Rowland. Oh, MadeHne! 

Madeline, (more sanely.) Father, Walter shall 
have my blessing too ! 
He loves me, father ; — twas his love — O, 
Will Eugene never — never come again '? 
Oh, AYalter — Walter, hadst thou loved me less 
To love my Eugene more ! — I am so tired, 
Ellinor — There, your arm. {Then seeing Phy- 
sician, wonderingly.) Pray, who is that ? 
Sir Rowland. Her mind returns. — A friend, my 
M idelinc. 
Who sorrovv^8 thus to find you sick. 
Madeline. ( wearily. ) Sick ? — sick ? 

I am not sick; — I am but tired — so tired. 
But still I thank him, father, still I thank liim. 
And now — let's take our evening walk. Per- 
haps, — 
Perhaps we may meet Eugene, Ellinor. 
Sir Rowland, {to Physician.) It comes again ! 
Oh ! sir, have you no power 
To help my child ? — To save my breaking lieart ? 
Madeline. Father, farewell. Farewell, kind sir. 

Sister. 
Ellinor. Dear Madeline ? 



G6 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT V. 

Madeline. We'll leave this place now. Come ! 
We'll go where there is no such thing as woe. 
(She starts outy l., hut stops finding herself too 

weak.) 
Sister, your arm. You are so very kind, 
And I— O — I am tired, — so tired, — so tired. 

(Exit slowly, L., leaning on Ellinor's arm.) 
Sir Rowland, (sinking into a chair, c.) That sigh 
hath re at my heart ! Oh, Grod ! Oh, God ! 
( ffe weeps, covering his face with his hinds. Phy- 
sician stands behind him with his hand on 
his shoulder, and seems about to speak, when 
the scene closes.) 



Scene Third. — A hall at Grassdale. {in first grooves.) 

Enter Sir Rowland, and a number of servants, e. 

Sir Rowland, {entering, m^uch excited.) About! — 
about ! search all the house, — each room, — 

Each closet, — every nook and hole, search close ! 

Search, too, the gardens ! every bower, — each 
shrub, 

Which might defend her from your sight! 
About! 

Lose not a minute ! quick ! be diligent ! 

A boon to him who first discovers her ! 

Exeunt the servants hastily, r., and l. As they go 
out Enter Walter, l. 

Walter. What is the matter, uncle? 
Sir Rowland. Much, boy, much ! 

Our Madeline is nowhere to be found I 
Walter, {surprised and startled.) Uncle! 
Sir Rowland. One hour ago she was asleep. 

Safely in her own room ; now she's not there. 

Nor anywhere that we can yet discover ! 

I fear some dire mishap 

Walter. No I uncle, no I 



So. 3.] EUGENE AKAM. 67 

8iR Rowland. Pray Heaven, my fears be false 1 
Walter. Ill prove them false ! 

{Exeunt, l.) 



Scene Fourth, and Last. — The interior of the con- 
demned cell, (ftdl stage.) door b. c. Window, 
grated, r. 3 e. A low stone bench, covered with draw, 

L. 3. E. 

Aram discovei^ed pacing the stage, as in deep 
thought. Presently he pauses, c. 

Aram, {pausing, c.) Yes, — ^it is promised ! — 
Heaven does pardon as the man repents. 

Noise of unlocking the door, heard. Aram 
turns towards it, when it opens wid the 3 mlo^, 
and an attendant enter. Jailor comes for- 
ward, the attendant remains at the door. 

Jailor. Eugene Aram, your last half hour has come. 
(Aram bows slightly, slightly poles, but remains 

silent. Jailor continues.) 
Wish you for auofht ? If there's a boon, which I 
In law mjy grant you, ask and have thy ^vish. 

{short pause. Aram remains silent) 
Is there no friend whom you would wish to 

see? — 
Wouldst see a clergyman? (Aram shakes his 
head negatively.) Wouldst send some mes- 
sage ? 
Have you no wish ? None ? 
Aram. None, my friend, — no, none. 
Jailor. I hope you do forgive me, sir, my task? 
Aram. Forgive thee ? thou hast naught to be for- 
given ! 
Hadst thou, indeed, I would forgive thee, 

freely,— 
As I hope for forgiveness. Thou'rt too kind; 



68 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT V. 

Hast been too partial to me in my griefs, 
Tempting thy duty witli thy truant feelings, 
Beyond my just deserts. 

Jailob. Say not so, sir. 

I only did wliat I tliought righl; no mere. 

Aram. I thank thee none the less. 

Jailor. You wish naught then ? 

Aram. Nothing. 

Jailor. Then farewell, sir, until the hour; 

111 come to you upon the stroke, and then, — 

Aram, You summon me to death. Farewell. 

{Exeunt Jailor and attendant. Aram, continues.) 
That man, whose calling is to watch o'er crime. 
Carries a soul within above his task. 
He comes to bid me wait for death, — his duty. 
And asks my pardon for so doing.— Strange. 
{He paceH the stage. Then pausing before the 

window, and looking out.) 
How brighi the day, as for a good man's fu- 
neral I 
It should be dark, and wear just Heaven's 

frown. 
{Re turns away from the windoiv.) 
Oh, memory! — too busy art thou now 1 
Too bu^y with the ghastly images 
Of joys—and hopes, all blasted by the spell 
Of one ill-fated hour. — Strange — strange it is; — ■ 
Time was the very thought of it unnerved me, — 
Yet, now, I tremble not.— Upon my spirit, 
That yet knows not no? happiness nor peace, 
There still does rest a strange, mysterious calm. 
Is it the promised rest of the hereafter 
Faintly foregiven? — Grant that it be not 
The deadened senses of an erring soul 
That wear themselves away! — Death— death, — 

that life 
Upon whose threshold now I stand, alone can 
solve the mystery ! 

Jailor. {loUhout, c. d.) Yes, let her in ; — no harm 
can come from liei. 

Aram, (roused.) What noise is that ? 



So. 4.] EUGENE ARAM. 69 

Madeline, {without, c. d., to Jailor.) I thank you, 

— thank you, sir. 
Aram, {recognizing the voice.) That voice ! — 
*Tis Madeline's ! — Oh, what means this ? 

The door opens and Madeline enters, the door 
being closed after her. She is dressed in her 
bridal costume, as in Scene Second, this Act. 

Madeli>?e. {at the door, shudderingly, not seeing 
Aram ; — speaking of the Jailor. ) 
'He is his jailor, — and he seemed so kind; — 
And yet — he kills — and kills — and kills — and 
kills. 

During this last line, which is spoken very slowly ^ 
and as if meditating dreamily, she comes 
slowly for Lvard- 

Aram. {ivho by her manner discovers her condition, 
regarding her, deeply affected.) This too — this 
is thy work I — oh, wretched man ! 
Madeline, (r. c, front, seeing Aram, but not yet 
recognizing him.) A man? — I'll speak to 
him. — Your pardon, sir, — 
I am a poor, grief-stricken maid — but list ! 
There is a man imprisoned here, — a great — - 
A good, — great man, who would not harm a 

worm ! 
But — he is innocent, — Heaven Icnows he is ! 

{At this last line Aram starts.) 
Will you not lead me to him, sir, — kind sir ? 
I have come to take him from this weary place. 
Aram, ^apart.) She knows me not; — Heaven's kind- 
ness is in that. 
Madeline. Will you not speak to me ? Have you no 
heart ? 
You are a man — and, oh ! the stones would weep 
Could they but know my sorrow and his wrong ! 
{Then as she slowly kneels before him.) 



70 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT Y. 

I — I will pray for you —a virgin's prayer, 

If 3^011 will lead me to him. (Then her mind 

seeming suddenly to unnder. ) Hush ! — 

listen ! — 
I hear a voice from Heaven calling me! — 
No, — no, — I'll not be long, — I'll not be long. 
Aram, {apart, as before.) Oh, God! this is thy 

greatest scourge of all ! 

{He covers his face ivith his hands.) 

Madleine. (more sanely, rising.) Dost weep for 
me— dost weep for me ? Oh, do ! 

The angels weep, — and tears are heavenly; — 

And — then you'll lead me to him sir, — kind sir. 
Aram, {overcome with emotion, forgetting himself.) 

Oh ! Madeline, — unhappy Madeline ! 

{Then suddenly recovering himself.) 

What have I done ? — Have I betrayed myself? 
Madeline. That was my name.— and 'twas a voice 
so like 

To one that oft has called me Madeline. 

{approaching and gazing intently into Aham's face.) 

Yes — yes ! — methinks it is, — yet — 'tis so dark ! 

Oh, Eugene, — if thou art Eugene, — speak ! — tell 
me ! 
Aram. I can endure no longer; — speak I must ! 

I am Eugene, — yes, Madeline, your Eugene ! 

Madeline with a cry of joy, throws herself into 
Aram's arms. Pause. 

Madeline. Oh, now I am so happy — oh, so happy ! 

They shall not part us, — no ! — never again I 
Aram, {aside) Part us ! — I too forgot that we must 
part ! 
Would that she had not known me to the last. 
Walter, {loithout, l. u. e., to Jailor.) Thou rash, 

imprudent man ! 
Aram, {recognizing the voice, starting, apart.) 
That voice ! What next shall come ? 



Sc. 4.] EUGENE ARAM. 71 

Jailor, {without, c. d., to Walter.) She begged so 
hard 
I did not have the heart, sir, to refuse her. 

Enter Walter and Jailor, c. d. 

Walter, {seeing Madeline in Aram's embrace, starts, 
and stops a second,; then advances angrily.) 
Villain ! — I charge thee, loose thj hold of her ! 

Aram attempts to put Madeline from him gently, 
but she clings closer to him 

Madeli"te. (feebly, clinging closer to Aram.) 

No ! let me keep yon ! None shall part us now. 
Walter (.r. — Jailor l.) Again, I charge you, loose 

your hold of her ! 
Aram. Walter, be kind ! her strength seems leaving 
her. 
Despise me, if you will, but pity her ! 
See you — she fails ! She is not what she was. 

(Madeline sinks lower upon his bosom.) 

Walter. 'Tis you have made her so ! Your blasting 
presence, 
Breeding its own contagion everywhere, 
Like a foul damp, is felt on everything ! 
Sir Rowland, {.without,!,. \j.^.) Which way — which 

way ? Oh, Madeline ! — my child ! 
Aram, {recognizing Sir Howland's voice.) 

Ah ! One — one trial more ! Weil, — well ! 

Enter Sir Rowland and Ellinor, o. d., followed 
by attendants. 

Sir Rowland, {seeing Madeline.) Great Heaven! 
Ellinor. {ditto.) Oh, sister — sister I 

They both approach Aram, who bows his head and 
gently pushes Madeline from him to Sir 



72 EUGENE ARAM. [AcT V. 

Rowland, who takes her in his arms, and 
sinks upon one knee, o.; Ellinor kneels be- 
side him, in front, l. Aram stands, c, back 
of Sir Rowland; "Walter, r. and Jailor, l. 

"Walter, {to Aram, as Sir Rowland takes Madeline. ) 

Lo ! behold thy triumph ! 

Man's vengeance is but weak for thy deserts ! — 

May Heaven fulfill the debt is here unpaid ! 
Aram, {to Walter, with feeling,) Young man, you 
speak as rashly still as ever ! 

Be calm, — and, should you be content to hear, — 

Tou shall not deem me guiltier than I am. 

Not I — Heaven witness ! — took thy father's life ! 

I struck, — but with my blow came quick re- 
pentance. — 

I fled, — and Houseman's hand then ended all. 

My hand is guiltless — though my will, consen- 
ting. 

Shares Houseman's guilt, and justly am I pun- 
ished. — 

May God have mercy, — even though man cannot, 

On one who should have reached a better end. 

But whom the dark ptirsuasions of another 

"Wrought to his own destruction. ( The bell be- 
gins to strike the hour, 12.) Ah, the bell! 

(Aram stops suddenly; then after it has ceased.) 

The hour at last has come. 
Madeline, {with an effort, trying to raise herself, very 
feeMy.) — Eugene, — the bell — 

Our marriage bell ! — yes, I am ready now — 
( Then sinking back as if in great pain. ) 

Oh — oh ! my heart — my — heart — 

As Madeline sinks back, Enter Sheriff, with 
death warrant, and fie of soldiers, c. d. 

Ellinor. {as Madeline sinks back.) Oh, dearest 

sister ! 
Sir Rowland. Oh, God ! my child — oh ! — she is 

dying ! 



So. 4. J EUGENE ARAM. 73 

Aram, (starting.) Dying! — 

And yet, methinks, it is a blessed fate, 
For thou art suj^e of Heaven ! — 
For me, whose wrong hath wrought this wretch- 
edness, 
Give me your curses, all ! — yet, — give me pity ! 

{Then to the Sheriff.) 
And you — who come my minister of doom. 
Let us not tarry ! Let me live no longer ! 

{Advances a step towards Sheriff y who lays his 
hand iqjon his shoulder. Low muffled drums 
heard tvithout. ) 

Picture and Curtain. 



THE END. 



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